Decadence
by The Seelie Court Jester
Summary: A parent, who was willing to sacrifice his life for his family. Children, who risked everything they had just to remember a friend. Lovers, who did whatever it took just to bring the world down with them. And then there was that one, simple stranger, who watched the tales unfold before his very eyes.
1. Cruel

Author's Note:

Hello. I am the Seelie Court Jester, and I do not own Danny Phantom.

* * *

They were strange, in the reporter's eyes.

No, it wasn't like he had anything against them; in fact he admired them. Successful, in every possible way, perfect, without the slightest of hesitations to keep them down; they were a bit fairytale-like even.

Everyone commented on the elite aura surrounding them, all the while pondering on their mysterious smiles, smiles whose meanings seemed to elude everyone and everything around them. They were confusingly wonderful, hosting charity events every other month, all the while proclaiming a new business deal that was sure to skyrocket the value of their company. As of this point, no one could keep up with them.

He remembered them quite fondly. Though they were always distant from reporters, fans, and anyone else who wanted to pry into their lives, their polite demeanors was always what won over the audience's attentions. They were embedded in every corner of the world, from military, to politics, to economics; no matter where they went, people made sure to listen to whatever they had to say. It was a given rule.

The Masters family was always a bit of an enigma.

So it came as a complete shock, when he saw Daniel and Samantha Masters on that screen, lying in a pool of their own blood.


	2. Chapter 1

He remembered receiving the assignment from his editor. "Do it," was what the man said to him.

Jeremy could easily recall how mundane that day seemed. He was in his boss's office, a room filled with modern glamor and elegance. The high, rectangular windows gave way to the afternoon light, followed by the city landscape that knew no end. The pristine, glass floor illuminated the floors down below, along with the frightening heights Jeremy still hadn't gotten used to. The black, sleek desk his editor was sitting matched the formal tone of the conversation at hand, though it was marred by a single photograph.

The four figures in that photograph were shrouded by brimming lights, their elongated shadows desperately trying to evade his "colleagues'" predatorily glares. It seemed like they were trying to run back to the safe haven of the castle in the distance, though of course, their fans wouldn't let them. There was a man there, with neat, silver hair, which was tied up into a small ponytail. His dark, blue eyes gazed back at the reporters, as he cast them a wonderful smile, dangerous, but wonderful nonetheless. He had a black suit on, with a neat red bow-tie to go with the affair. His right arm protectively shielded his children from the fans and the reporters, all of whom were insanely screaming their praises, a side-effect to the value of their stocks skyrocketing from the man's skillful endeavors. From the looks of things, it seemed he was going to say something, but the young girl behind him shoved him inside the iron gates, a playful light embedded in her eyes.

The girl, his daughter, from what the reporter has heard, was stunningly beautiful. Sporting long, neat, orange hair, with brighter blue eyes, from here, it looked like she was answering the questions of their audience. She held fast to an elegant, black sweater, which flowed comfortably from her thin body, along with dark blue jeans and black flats, both of which fit snuggly onto her frame. It didn't take long for Jeremy to deduce that she wasn't talking to her audience, but rather, to the man she was teasingly pushing along. Ah, that's right; from what Jeremy's, the eldest was always a little detailed, a bit left-brained, almost always calm. She was the one who practically kept the family from falling into their own laziness, despite the success they've been blessed with for so many years. She was accepted to medical school somewhere far, far away. Cambridge, wasn't it?

Jeremy could feel his hands slowly picking up the picture. He scrutinized it, his eyes deftly analyzing the contents of their weary, yet somewhat pleasant faces. Those two were well-known, both here and around the world. Vladimir Masters, the CEO of Vlad Incorporations, which specialized in trading with international stocks, was named 'Man of the Year' by New York Times. His adopted daughter, Jasmine Masters, had just recently come back from Africa with a research project on different educational alternatives in treating malaria and Ebola. She was also organizing a charity fund in raising awareness for war refugees in Syria, as well as Turkey. The girl was always passionate about her research, something that Vladimir had so deeply encouraged.

His boss, Mr. Albercorn, wanted him to do an exclusive on the two figures. Although the other two children showed promise, right now America was focused mainly on Masters and his eldest. Since the daughter had blossomed beautifully, and no doubt has captured the hearts of billions of boys, the editor wanted him to do an interview with them, just to dig up some dirt.

"We've got the best connections to them," he's repeated over and over again. "And since you've been following them for five years now, it shouldn't be a problem for you, right?"

Jeremy looked up at him, his jaw slightly dropping. Yes, he did specialize in scandals, in unveiling a past that should've remained hidden. He was obviously talented too, else no one would even bother hiring him. In fact, it was his talent that managed to land him a job in the biggest news station in America.

But he just couldn't bring himself to do it; all in all, they were good people. Was wrong to ask the editor to give them a little privacy? And he was about to say it too. He was about to argue back, when he spotted two figures, the people hidden behind Mr. Master's arm. Two people, who seemed to disregard the chaos around them, who seemed to be locked in their own world, all the while plastering the same facade onto their faces, a facade the reporter knew all too well.

A boy and a girl, around sixteen years old.

The boy had raven hair and, like Jasmine, cerulean eyes that reflected back every color around him. He was wearing a dark burgundy sweater, which emphasized his tall, lean frame. He had on dark jeans, with a pair of black sneakers that hugged the soles of his feet. If the reporter squinted, it seemed like he was whispering to someone, most likely his other sister.

The girl, who apparently whispered back, also had dark hair. Amethyst eyes gazed back evenly at her audience, with the same intensity the boy had given them. She was wearing a long, black dress, the front of the hem stopping at her knees. Thin, elegant combat boots embraced her pale legs, and when she turned back, purple lipstick grazed her lips, a rebellious appearance that made the audience even more excited than they already were. She wore a simplistic, black choker, with a tiny, green rose dangling from it. It looked like she was about to snap at her audience when, the boy grabbed her arm, and moved her away, practically telling her that they weren't worth it.

The reporter could see the humorous scene unfold before his eyes. He could feel himself smile. It wasn't until he looked up, strands of his own blond hair falling to his bright green eyes, did he hear himself say, "I doubt those two have anything to hide."

"Just think of something," Mr. Albercorn stated exasperatedly. "And if you can't find anything, then score an interview with the guy. At least with that, we'll be on prime for the rest of the month, right?"

"Yes sir," he said aimlessly, as he looked down again. He blinked, removing his thumb from their two faces, before examining Jasmine's face once more.

All three were adopted, but no one knew where. No one knew how; like their father, they just showed up, right there, in front of the cameras and magazines and the like, thrust into a glamorous world that they, strangely, seemed all too prepared for. And yet, it wasn't Jasmine that interested him. No, even if she was apart of the trio, somehow, her world was too…obvious.

It wasn't long before the reporter came to look at his next targets.

Daniel and Samantha Masters, huh?

* * *

The reporter remembered combing through millions of files the next week, digging up everything he could about the mysterious children. He ignored everything that had to do with Vladimir Masters, with Jasmine, and instead, focused on those two.

Which, of course, yielded nothing.

It was weird. Even with all his resources, Jeremy couldn't find the adoption agency Masters had used. And it wasn't like he could just hack into the government databases, or even stalk them day and night, hoping that somehow, someway, there'd be a simple light in this dark tunnel he shoved himself into; he wasn't that desperate yet. So, he continued with his meaningless search. He contacted every adoption agency he knew, searched and researched their names over and over again, all to no avail. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, that had to do with their past.

Instead, he got information everyone already knew. Daniel Masters was a prodigal son, and more than likely the successor to Vlad Incorporations. He was an expert in the stock market, possessing an almost supernatural ability to tell when stocks are good, when they'd be bad, what trades would yield the most profit. Each and every time he traded, he made ten times more than he had before, half of which would go to some charity Jasmine was promoting. And not only that, but he was also a really good representative; he handled things that not even the most skilled businessmen could do, solved complex problems that've marred companies for years on end. He's constructed social alliances that benefited his father, as well as himself, in the long run, and it was through those investments did the family have the positive image it enjoyed now. It was an undeniable fact that, as of this point, Masters had taken on the boy not only as his adoptive son, but also as his business partner. The mutual affection and respect they had for one another made the transition easier.

Samantha Masters, on the other hand, was a bit of a vigilante. No doubt due to Masters's encouraging, Samantha was a gifted young woman who specialized in human rights. Despite her young age, she's been known to take down corrupt politicians and business officials, blackmailing them into pushing her own agenda, which was, fortunately, humane and beneficial. She's gathered evidence, both legally and illegally, and has documented them in courts. The cases she's won ranged from illegal environmental dumping, to sickening bargains made by pharmaceutical companies, to even alleged crime syndicates that have stemmed from across the world. She's pushed for equal rights between genders, and though her own ways were questionable, in the end, the girl received the respect she's cultivated. Like Daniel, she got it through her own power. And though she didn't make as nearly as much money as Daniel did, the court cases she's won had still given her a small fortune to invest in.

Unlike Masters or Jasmine, the two were rarely seen in public. They never really did much outside of their professional life. Like Jasmine, they were home schooled, so there wasn't much the reporters could go off on. They refused to do interviews, and if someone managed to get into contact with them, the two would either let Masters handle it, or hang up altogether. Even the wealthy hadn't seen them around at the various banquets the Masters hosted, and whenever they _were_ there, they always seemed to stay away from the crowds. They only ever gave generic answers, nothing deep, everything superficial. There was no reliable truth behind them, nothing that could possibly give any hints as to who they really were.

But then of course, the same principle could apply to everyone else in the Masters family. Its just that those irksome burdens applied more so to those two children.

Needless to say, he was happy when he found out the family was hosting another charity ball. Ecstatic even, despite the fact that he, along with a dozen of his other colleagues would be invited there, if only for the sole purpose of spreading awareness for whatever issue was pressing against young Jasmine's mind at the time. Of course, a lot of celebrities would be there as well, a few socialites, none from Wall Street. So, Jeremy changed into his best tuxedo, grabbed his best camera, made sure he was, at the very least, presentable, and left to go to the party.

It was extravagant, but then of course, they all were.

The grand, medieval interior of the Masters Castle was incredible. Flying buttresses soared through the ceilings, with a large, golden chandelier dangling from the top. Dim candles illuminated the silhouettes surrounding them, as the evening light descended upon the ballroom. Stained-glass windows covered the left side of the wall, giving view to the city lights Jeremy had grown so fond of over the last couple of years, along with the starlights that slowly began dominating the skies. There was a stone stairwell towards the end of the ballroom, the crimson rug cascading down the cold ground. If Jeremy looked up, he could see portraits upon portraits of nature serenely flying through the walls, the gentle strokes softly caressing the borders. The golden frames gave way to a warmth that lighted the fireplaces towards the right of the wall. Just in the middle of the ballroom was a long table, filled with every kind of food imaginable. Fortunately, most of the crowd was able to control themselves, and so, they resumed to chatting as usual, their pompous airs decorating their frames. The ensemble's soft music reverberated from the ballroom, with the _Danse Macabre_ playing in the soft background, the notes weaving through the gossip already spreading throughout the castle.

Unfortunately, after about half an hour, Jeremy's excitement waned.

Jeremy has had to console himself with the latest gossip about the family; Jasmine running away with a guy (disproven), Vladimir kissing a maid (how scandalous…not), the fact that the Masters family was actually bankrupt, and this was just another ploy to distract everyone from the truth (Daniel _demolished_ that lie). He sighed, gripping his camera in frustration. He was actually just about to leave, when he heard that name again, this time, from the wealthy socialites themselves.

"Really?" one of the ladies whispered. "My, how indecent!"

"Imagine the shock the man must feel," another woman stated haughtily. "And to think, with his own son too…"

"Ah, don't forget the daughter," a man chimed in. "My, how easily time flies."

"Well, they are _adopted,_ aren't they?"

"It doesn't matter; incest is still incest."

Jeremy's eyebrows raised. He turned back at them, alarm entrenched in his face. Then, without thinking, he started towards the socialites, the curiosity only beginning to get the better of him. Just as he was about to reach over and talk with them, he stopped.

What was he doing? Ten years of experience had told him he shouldn't trust those frivolous words. And he's seen enough of them to know he should avoid them; more than likely they were still salty about Vladimir's reigning dominance over the marketplace. So he turned back, and sat down at a chair, and remained quiet.

He was lost in his own thoughts. He didn't bother checking the time, didn't bother listening to anyone else in the room. Who knows how long he sat there, wallowing in his own pity? In fact, when the sun's light had entirely faded from the room, he was still there. A few minutes later, simply sighed.

There was no way he was getting a story tonight. Was there a lead he missed? Should he just go exploring now? Or should he just go home? He's probably called all the adoption agencies in the country by now, but maybe he missed one.

He laughed pathetically.

Not likely.

"Can I sit here?"

He waved his hand flippantly. "Sure," he mumbled, as he stared off at the empty space. Seriously, how could he let two _teenagers_ get the better of him like that? And they didn't even have to do anything! He felt idiotic, stupid, humiliated, just like every single paparazzi group that tried following Samantha, only to be shot down every single time. What was he going to tell his boss anyways? Was Jasmine going to be here? Most likely, considering it _was_ her party. Could he salvage his pride with this?

"Are you okay?"

He scratched the back of his head. "Not really…"

"…Do you want something?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You know, it might not be much, but you should still eat something."

"I'm fine," he was about to say again, when only silence came from his throat.

Daniel Masters regarded him evenly. The worry was obviously in his expression, but there was something else too, though Jeremy couldn't tell what. Shadows were entwined beneath his eyes, a testament to the hard work he put in to keep up with his father's company. He was wearing a black business suit, his icy blue orbs giving little way to the guests nearby. Before the boy could say anything else, Jeremy sprang up, fear taking over his overly panicking heart.

"I-I'm so sorry…!" he began stammering, only to be stopped by Daniel's lighthearted laugh. "It's okay. Just sit down; you're making a scene."

Slowly, Jeremy slumped to his chair, disbelief rushing over him. "I…I'm sorry…"

"Like I said, it's fine." Daniel settled back in his chair, staring out at the guests with distant eyes. "I'm not really into stuff like this."

He blinked. "But…but I thought that-"

"Jazz will be here soon. You're here to interview her, right?"

Jeremy straightened, shoving aside his nerves. This was his chance! "N-no!" he shouted, causing Daniel to jump from his seat. "A-actually, you're the one that I…you know…that I wanted to…"

Much to his dismay, his voice faltered. What was wrong with him? Where'd all that experience go? He was investigating the boy, wasn't he? And here he was, just sitting there! He was blowing it!

Daniel blinked. "You want to interview me?"

"Yes," he breathed finally. "Well…both you, and your sister."

"Jazz?"

"N-no, the other one."

Daniel raised a cautious eyebrow. "Other one?"

Smooth.

"S-Samantha!" the reporter burst, causing Daniel to lean away a little. "Samantha Masters. I came here to interview you and Samantha."

Daniel stared at him quizzically. In the next few minutes, Jeremy was sure the boy was going to call security, and the guards will come throw him out. He was looking at the gates now, ready to make a run for it. Still, Daniel sighed, forcing Jeremy away from his makeshift chaos. "Sorry," he said, "but neither of us are comfortable with that."

Jeremy swallowed his pride. "T-that's fine."

"…You okay?"

"Everything's fine!" he said, forcing himself to place a plastic smile on his face. "D-don't trouble yourself! So, I hear your old man just got another deal! Some guy from Russia…?"

Daniel paused for a brief second, trying to determine where the conversation was actually going. Finally, he shrugged his shoulders, and turned his gaze back to the partygoers. "He said he'll take a little break after this."

"R-really?"

"Yeah."

Something clicked in Jeremy then. He leaned over, the surprise etched in his features. "Hold on a minute; isn't Vlad Master's company supposed to represent someone a few days from now…? One of there presidential candidates, right?"

"No, but a majority of them are fighting for his attention."

"Your dad's supposed to be…with them then, isn't he?"

"I can handle it."

…What?

"Besides," Daniel continued, ignoring the stunned look on Jeremy's face, "they aren't really coming here to impress him with their ideas. Most of them are bankrupt anyways."

Now _this_ was news to him. Jeremy narrowed his eyes, as he met the teen's eyes. "What're you talking about? Don't they have sponsors? Donors? Generous friends and family?"

"What's your name?" Daniel asked, after a long while.

"Jeremy Müller." he said, barely swallowing down an excited squeal.

"Well then, Mr. Müller," Daniel stated, "approximately half the American population actually goes out to vote, and there aren't a lot of…"generous donors" out there either. Right now, there are fourteen candidates, both Democrat and Republican, and both parties are spending millions and millions of dollars, just to fund their campaigns."

"…What are you getting at?"

"Where do you think they get that kind of money?"

Jeremy was about to answer the boy, when suddenly, he heard clapping. He froze for a brief moment, and when he turned back to Daniel, the boy was gone, coming up to the staircase to meet his two sisters. He followed the boy's gaze, then shot up from his seat.

Jasmine and Samantha.

The eldest was in a blue, strapless dress. The ruffles from the skirt descended from her legs, her pure, white gloves shimmering within the darkness. Her cheeks blushed lightly, her orange hair held in a tight, french braid. Her serene eyes gazed at the crowds, and almost immediately, she gave them a shy smile, causing everyone in the room to fall in love with her. She bowed lowly, before coming down the stairwells, her heels echoing throughout the ballroom. After some nudging, Samantha obediently followed.

Unlike her adopted sister, Samantha held no love for light filled colors. Her hair was down, the long strands brushing against her tiny waist. A long, dark crimson dress embraced the curves of her body. The back of her dress exposed the girl's entire back, with only tightened strands to keep the dress from falling. A black rose choker covered her throat, with tiny, fake rubies dangling from it.

Unlike the kind, confident smile Jasmine showed to the crowd, Samantha merely nodded toward their direction, her piercing eyes automatically searching the crowds. That frown never left her face, and though her glare softened when Jasmine swept the crowd's attention, no doubt from guilt, her eyes still wandered. It wasn't long before they settled on one person, and by the time Jeremy returned to his moment in time, Daniel had gone from him completely.

He saw them talking. He saw the way they seemingly cut everyone out from their world. He saw Daniel reach out and kiss her hand, before leading her away from the crowds. Samantha smiled, and willingly obliged, seemingly forgetting the party they were both supposed to attend.

* * *

"Incest?"

"That's right boy," the wealthy woman said lowly, as she looked over her shoulder, making sure that the eldest Masters wasn't behind her. She turned away, and engaged in gossiping with yet another one of her brood. "You know, I heard that Vladimir _himself_ encouraged them."

Her companion scoffed, as he took a sip from his wine glass. "Preposterous. Even if that was true, they'd be too busy anyways. You know the case our little Samantha won, the one in New Jersey…"

The woman scoffed. "Please, don't remind me," she said, rubbing her temples. "That _bitch_ almost lost me my company. Where is all that money going anyways?"

Jeremy stiffened. Though he knew it wasn't in his place to say anything, it tore him apart that the socialites were ripping into the two teenagers like this. But the last thing the reporter wanted was to draw attention away from the two like this, and besides, however unreliable it was, information was information. And it made a great story too, even if he had to destroy their image a bit.

Hesitatingly, he peered around the room. Neither Daniel nor Samantha were nowhere to be found. And so, he relaxed a bit, and continued with his night.

"You know what _I_ hear?" another man said, causing the small circle to turn to him. "I hear Samantha's expecting. And the father is dear old _Vlad's."_

"Now _that_ is disgusting."

"Richard, don't be such a dolt."

"It's true though, isn't it? The girl's made a lot less public appearances than she had a few years ago."

"Perhaps the girl's already got morning sickness. But how do you even _know_ that the child is Vlad's anyways? It could be Daniel's."

"Oh shut it," one woman said with a playful, yet scornful sneer. "You're just mad that the girl put you out of business."

The socialite stuttered and nearly choked on her wine. She glared up at her friends, who were all tittering at her discomfort. "Just you wait," she muttered, causing her group to fall silent. "The girl will regret making a fool out of me. I've a plan, you see."

"Oh really now?"

"Do tell, do tell!"

"Well, it involves that Daniel boy-"

"And what, exactly, would Danny have anything to do with this?"

The woman nearly jumped in shock, as she turned back, the hem of the skirts brushing aside her fat legs. Jeremy felt himself smile then, a smug, arrogant expression on his face, as he stared at Samantha, who caressed her predatory grin.

The girl was holding a cup of water in one hand, the other neatly wrapped around her waist. She didn't seem particularly disturbed by the rumors the wealthy guests were spreading about either her or her brother. Rather, it looked like she embraced them fully, as she took one step towards the woman, who was now trying to stammer her way out of the grave she's dug for herself.

"Let me make this very clear, Mrs. Johnson," Samantha said, loud enough for the entire group, including Jeremy, to hear. There was a dark edge embedded within her tone, and though she managed to keep her smile, sickening anger brewed from her pupils. "So much as _look_ at my brother, and you'll have to answer to me."

The woman's face contorted horrifyingly. "Why you little-!"

"It'd be a shame, after all, if reporters caught a glimpse of _that_ in your backyard," she said, causing the woman, Johnson, to fall silent. Her gaze slid to Jeremy, and automatically, he froze. "You're already on the verge of bankruptcy, aren't you?" she continued icily. "It'd be a shame, if you couldn't bail yourself out of jail. You can rot away with all the other filth."

The woman clenched her fists. "That… _that's…!"_

"Or would you rather I ask father to stop funding your company?" she said, causing Mrs. Johnson to fall silent. It was then she laughed. "Well, I guess it doesn't matter; as of this point not even Daniel will buy it out."

He narrowed his eyes, as he swirled towards the young businesswoman, who was beginning to back away. She bit the inside of her cheek, before slinking away, all the while receiving curious stares around her. And yet, even then, Samantha came and inserted herself into the group, brushing aside the fearful glares she received from the rest of the wealthy. They all remained silent.

Her feral effect, however, went unnoticed by the rest of the reporters, and automatically, they flocked around her, questioning her, pressing her about what the heiress of Johnson Industries had hidden in her backyard. Much to their dismay, Samantha shrugged, and continued drinking from her glass, perfectly fine with the blackmail.

As he watched her interact with the reporters, from giving half-hearted excuses as to where the man of the hour might be, to irritatingly dissecting the flaws towards the latest nightmares from the presidential candidates, Samantha Masters cultivated their attentions. Over time, she brought their attention to Jasmine's charity once again, then left the crowds altogether. He followed her footsteps, and found Daniel, who was waiting for her at the entrance with an expectant smile. She returned it eagerly, before walking away from the crowds, knowing full well the audience's attention was elsewhere.

But Jeremy found herself watching her, watching them. Mesmerized by some dark spell she casted over the reporters and the wealthy, all the while conducting their fearsome auras without the slightest bit of concern. He regarded them for the longest time.

Then he found Daniel's eyes on his.

The boy returned Jeremy's scrutinizing stare. Then he smirked and left, his sister's hand in his.

From a distance, Jeremy could still make out the evening chimes, chimes the darkness gladly received.


	3. Chapter 2

Ever since that night, the reporter has kept an eye on the wealthy circles surrounding the Masters. He's lost count of how many people he's had to interview, how many false leads he's had to put up with until he finally managed to get…something. Some of the privileged aristocrats kept saying they were friends, while others, only mere acquaintances, and even still, business partners who obviously thought Jeremy was clueless on the details as to who he was dealing with. Just like at the party, malicious rumors kept shrouding the rich billionaires, though more were focused on Daniel and Samantha than anyone else.

The lies were so obvious Jeremy couldn't help but laugh at every single one. He could easily pinpoint the main reason why that disgruntled businessman, or the hardheaded fallen socialite, had made it their mission to destroy the teens' reputations. It was astonishing, how hateful everyone seemed, and just towards two children that've only been in the limelight for the past few years. But then of course, isn't it their own faults for being so incompetent to begin with? Jeremy was no expert in society, but even he knew that with the way the former millionaires handled themselves, as well as their fortunes, practically anyone could make a living off of them, provided they had the right outfit and somewhat decent manners. Even Jeremy himself could swindle them of all their glory.

But within those lies, there was still something Jeremy could use. For one thing, the rumors all stemmed from Daniel and Samantha's mysterious origins. Some kept saying they were just a bunch of riffraff that Vladimir picked up from off the streets, while others simply stated that they were just demons the man summoned one night, to help his businesses grow. How else could he have been so successful, and in such a short amount of time? While it was a humorous way to explain things, Jeremy forced himself to look away from the story.

After he exhausted all his leads, and after countless of sleepless nights wondering just what he was supposed to do, Jeremy found himself standing outside the company building itself. Its intimidating shadow heightened the tension Jeremy was already feeling, and when he looked up, he almost fell to the floor. He bit his lip.

What was he even _doing_ here?

He's already humiliated himself in front of Daniel, just with his stupid stammering act alone. Knowing the kid, he's probably already told his sisters _and_ Masters all about it, so just coming here probably wasn't going to solve anything. They might even reject him when he tries coming through the door.

But somehow, he took a deep breath, shoved the glass doors aside, and walked into the lobby. He never even took two steps in when he stopped.

High, metallic columns pushed the ceilings through the afternoon light. Tall, rectangular windows gave way to the cool, sleek shade outside, with large evergreens situated on either side of the edifice. Just behind the front desk were large, iron stairs, the steps seemingly floating on nothing The railings added to the modern enchantment, the balconies easily capturing Jeremy's attention with their inviting shadows beneath. Even from here, he could make out the grandeur of each hallway, traces of golden leave spiraling all over the red carpets. The marble beneath his shoes made him feel…inadequate, to say the least.

Seriously…

Jeremy gripped his notepad. He felt like he should've come in with a suit and tie or something. Or rags. Really, rich rags that everyone else says is out of style right now. Anything was better than showing up in…a t-shirt and jeans. And sandals, of course; what better way to add to the humiliation? But it wasn't really his fault, to be perfectly honest. This was the only clean thing he had left to wear, and unless he wanted to interview them stark naked…

…That would've been better, wouldn't it?

He grumbled to himself incoherently, as he bravely shouldered on, all the while massaging his broken pride. How is it that he'd been following the family for _five_ years, and never _once_ has he been inside the company building?

He strolled up to the front desk, with all the confidence he could muster. He caught sight of a young woman sitting there, in a gray business suite that matched the seriousness of the air around him. She was locked in a conversation that seemed to convey more confusion than anything else. He never paid much attention to her facial features; perhaps the only thing that caught his eyes was the cruel gleam embedded in her glasses. The lenses reflected back his nervous face, and it was through that did he fight down the urge to slink away.

A few minutes later, she hung up the phone. She continued typing away on her computer, without the slightest acknowledgement of the guest standing in front of her. Slowly, he leaned over, endeavoring to see what she was doing, all to no avail. He simply sighed, as he straightened, and looked ahead. It wasn't long before he finally caught her attention. She looked up irritatingly, and snarled, "Can I help you?"

He blinked, surprised at her hostility. "Yeah," he said after a while. "I just wanted to know if Vlad Masters was in…?"

His voice faltered, as his nerves began taking over. Well, he still needed to show Mr. Albercorn _something;_ in order to make this work, he needed both Jasmine _and_ Vladimir. Who knows? Maybe they might give him some hint about Daniel and Samantha. Maybe they'll reveal something he might've missed.

The woman brushed him aside, as he knew she would. "Busy," she muttered. "Got an appointment?"

"N-no. I just-"

"Let me guess," the woman interrupted, causing Jeremy to fall silent. "You're an acquaintance? Got a press pass?"

He narrowed his eyes. He did not like where this was going. "I _am_ a reporter-"

"Good for you. If you want, I can put you down sometime…next month maybe?"

His eyes bulged. "Next….next _month?!"_

"You _are_ covering the deal, aren't you?" the woman asked, her eyebrow raised. "About the trusts?"

"I…y-yeah," Jeremy finally stammered. "I am. So, he's not…?"

"Sir, Mr. Masters is an incredibly busy man-"

"I'm a friend," he said quickly, causing the woman to fall silent. Her eyes widened a bit, as she settled back in her seat, her lips slightly parted. Jeremy smiled triumphantly to herself; that'd show her.

Slowly, she reached over, placed a delicate finger over the intercom, and said, "Get me security."

Wait, what?

"I am," he insisted, his hardened tone surprising even himself. "I'm an acquaintance of Daniel's."

She looked up. "Really? An acquaintance? So _not_ a friend?"

"We are friends! We met at a party…once…"

"Oh? If that's the case, why didn't you just say so?" the woman sneered, an overprotective frown grazing her thin lips. "You're even more pathetic than that pizza delivery guy. I know; pretend you're him, and let's see if you get in."

"I'm telling you lady," he seethed, his reckless pride overtaking him, "Daniel _knows_ me. We hung out-"

"Hung out? More like stalked. Security!"

"I can prove it!" he replies, not realizing the bigger hole he's digging himself into.

She folded her arms. "And how-?"

"What's going on here?"

Silence instantly erupted from the two. Jeremy tensed, though the woman remained alert. She smiled smugly, as she stood, nodding in acknowledgement at the young boy behind the reporter. "Good morning Daniel."

Crap.

Jeremy could feel the boy's eyes boring his back. He flinched at the same scrutiny Daniel examined him under. "Mr. Müller," he finally whispered. "What're you doing here?"

The woman blinked. "You know him?"

"He's a good friend of mine," Daniel slowly stated, as he drew himself to the reporter's side. "It's alright; he's with me."

Jeremy tuned the woman's words out then, as he stood there, frozen in place. All the courage he managed to build up evaporated. He refused to look at the boy, refused to do much of anything really, as that unfortunate anxiousness, once again, took hold of him. He could feel the woman's suspicious gaze.

However, she simply nodded, and allowed Daniel through. It was then Jeremy got a good look at the boy.

He was wearing the same outfit Jeremy saw him wear in the photograph. Though his eyes were less than inviting, nonetheless, Daniel gestured him forward. His lips never moved, but Jeremy didn't need another second to follow the boy. It hadn't even occurred to him that the woman was glaring at him, nor did he even realize the fact he'd won the losing argument, hence saving himself from embarrassment. No, his heart was pounding too loudly; his arrogance had already vanished the moment Daniel appeared.

They walked up the metallic staircase. Their footsteps resonated through the walls, the echoes reverberating throughout the lobby. They had come to the second floor, when Daniel quickened his pace, despite the fact that there was no one present. Jeremy couldn't help but steal a quick glance at the boy, who was now heading toward a steel elevator, which brandished gold and silver on its doors. Almost automatically, the door opened, and with that, the two made their way inside. Daniel shut the doors then, and pressed the buttons that would lead to the highest floor. He waited for some time, as the elevator soared through the various levels of the building.

"So?"

Jeremy nearly jumped. He looked down at the boy, before remembering Daniel's kind graces. "Thank you," he replied genuinely.

"Not that," he snapped. "Don't make me repeat myself."

"O-oh," Jeremy said quietly, as he fumbled with the camera in his hands. "I…just wanted to see if your dad was in. I was planning on covering the deal you were going to make with the candidates."

"I can just answer that one," Daniel said easily, as he shoved his hands in his pockets. "There is none."

"What?"

"None of the candidates are going to get any funding. Dad says he'd rather that money go to another one of Jazz's projects than to a bunch of bankrupt morons."

He blinked, remembering the break Daniel mentioned. "So he's…doing alright? He's relaxing?"

Daniel chuckled emptily. "I honestly don't know. There are times I wonder if he's ever going to retire. It's always work with him. Here."

The elevator stopped suddenly. The doors swung open, and with that Daniel strolled through, the tension dissipating from his shoulders. He paused, before turning back to Jeremy, and gesturing him in. "You wanted an interview, didn't you?"

His lips parted slightly. Carefully, he nodded, and stepped into the office. Almost immediately, he regretted it.

It was large, larger than Mr. Albercorn's grand office, larger than any room he's ever been in. It was almost the size of the ballroom the party was hosted in, though of course, it never boasted the Gothic elegance. The black tiles captured his silhouette, the finite details conveyed through the tiny, gray dots on the floor. There were no walls; rather, thick windows which relayed the skyscrapers surrounding the office. There was a big, black desk sitting towards the back of the room, as well as a large, brown chair nestled against the glass. A tiny, closed laptop nestled comfortably on the surface, a silver laptop that Daniel started walking to. Aside from that, there was practically nothing in the office, no other color aside from light and dark.

Jeremy found his eyes wandering a bit, before finally settling on the boy's back. Cautiously, the reporter made his way towards Daniel. Odd; it wasn't like him to just give out interviews. Didn't he say he was uncomfortable with the idea?

He watched Daniel open the laptop. His fingers flew across the keyboard. Rapidly, millions of windows assaulted the boy at once, though Daniel went through them at lightening speed, his eyes briefly scanning the text before removing them altogether. He could almost see the boy's mind picking out the tiniest details as to what he would need, whether or not he would do the things he would. Finances, budgets, deals, invitations; everything had instantly been organized, from the moment Daniel saw them.

"Well?"

Jeremy was shocked from his daydream. "H-huh?"

"Don't just stand there," the boy said, as he shut the laptop. "You wanted to know about Vlad Incorporations future investments, right?"

Jeremy bit his lip. "A-actually…"

Daniel turned back, only needing a split second to process what Jeremy was saying. His smirk was replaced with a frown. He leaned against the edge of the table, and folded his arms across his chest. "What'd I say?"

"Sorry," the reporter mumbled finally. Scenes from the party assaulted his mind, and he gripped his notepad tightly. "I've heard quite a few things from your friends. About you, and your sister."

"Those idiots?"

"That's right."

"And you don't like what they're saying about us?"

Jeremy nodded.

Daniel shrugged. "Then just don't listen; it's not like what they say will affect us either way."

"Of course."

After another awkward silence, Daniel narrowed his eyes. "Do you believe them?"

"N-no!" he rectified quickly. "I was just a bit curious. Samantha mentioned something about…Mrs. Johnson."

Hostility gave way to hollow humor. "And what'd she say?"

"She mentioned something about a backyard…?"

Daniel laughed. "Oh, that. Well, the financial reports will be released in a couple of days anyways."

"Reports?"

His eyes flickered towards Jeremy. "I'm sure you're aware that her company is under Dad's control."

"Well yes, but I didn't think that-"

"Let's just say, she's done some…questionable things to get where she was at," he continued. "There's not much left for her, at the very least, not without her ruining her family's reputation."

Jeremy's eyes widened. "What about her fortune? There's got to be something-"

"Squandered."

Jeremy's lips parted. "So how is she affording that kind of lifestyle?"

"Millions of dollars, stolen from underprivileged workers and the like; Samantha was actually planning on bringing her to trial."

Was that…really going on? Although the reporter wasn't big on economics, he still followed the numbers diligently, in case he needed proof that some big scandal was happening. He'd completely missed those facts, it seems. "Then why didn't she?"

"Hmm?"

"It sounds like this has been going on for a while," Jeremy said quietly. "If you knew about it, then why let it go on?"

Daniel smirked, snapping Jeremy to attention. "We won't."

"What?"

"Right now, our company's dangling her business on a string. As of this point, we own half her shares, meaning that if she wants us to keep funding her, she's going to have to do what we say. That means she's going to have to give back the money she's stolen. She's in a lot of debt too, so I doubt she'll last long."

Jeremy felt himself smile. "Huh."

Daniel shrugged.

"You know what this means, don't you?"

"Once the reports are published, everyone will know about it. She won't have any place left to hide."

Jeremy nodded pleasingly. It seems Mr. Albercorn was wrong about them. Vlad Masters saw something horribly wrong with the way Mrs. Johnson was treating her workers, and decided to step in. As soon as those finance reports are published, he was going to publicly destroy her, so that she won't ever hurt anyone again. They really were angels.

And yet, despite that, he still felt uneasy. Why? Was it because of Samantha's words towards the young woman? Was it because of how easily she won over her, how easily she exerted her control over the woman like that, control that made her seem almost merciless? Or was it the predatory way Daniel made the whole situation seem, the slightest traces of empathy eluding him from the moment Jeremy mentioned Mrs. Johnson? And in this light, the young boy seemed…incredibly ruthless.

Still, he shook his suspicions aside, and smiled at Daniel. "Well, good always wins, right?"

"That's true," he dismissed. "Is there anything else you'd like to know?"

Jeremy beamed. He whipped out his notepad, before rummaging his pocket for a pen, forgetting the fact that he was standing there, in nothing but rags, compared to the fine riches the boy had on. He forgot his initial uneasiness, forgot about the events that transpired today, and simply focused on Daniel Masters, who was sitting there, waiting for his questions. Nothing about him, or Samantha; just about the company.

Right.

He asked his questions, and Daniel answered them, with the same gracefulness Jasmine used to deal with the other reporters. Daniel told him everything he knew about Vlad Masters, his ideals, how hardworking he was, the hilarious mistakes he's made, both as a business partner, and as a father, though Daniel was grateful nonetheless.

As the two talked, the afternoon light slowly giving way to the growing shadows outside, Jeremy couldn't help but feel completely at ease in front of the boy. He'd forgotten about troubling rumors circulating around the Masters family. He simply smiled, and before long, he started relaying back his own personal life toward the boy, his nervousness not even beginning to overtake him. Before he knew it, he started with everything he'd ever had to deal with in his somewhat short life.

He talked about his former dog, who had died when he was only seven. He talked about how difficult it was to getting a job as a reporter, how happy he was when he discovered he had a natural talent in investigation. He talked about how much he admired Vladimir Masters, about how happy he was when he realized how much good the man did for everyone, whether he knew it or not. He talked about how proud the man must've been, that his children were doing just fine, not even bothering to stop on the subject of adoption, though it plagued him to no end before. He talked about the issues that came to mind, personal or not, as well as the current state the world was in. He talked about opinions, radicals, moderates, what was declared to be right or wrong in the earth's eyes, fair or not. He talked about truth and lies, about propaganda, about the negative connotations associated with the word, though people did it all the time. He talked about the government, about the rights and wrongs of it, about the insanity surrounding it, about how overly exaggerated it was, though in reality, it was but a powerless entity, sent forth to become but a simple, humble tool, for the peoples' use.

And all the while, as Jeremy kept on and on, Daniel never said anything. He only smiled, and nodded, as he normally would.

* * *

Jeremy was present on the day Mrs. Johnson was indicted for her crimes.

It was only weeks after the report was published. Not only was the woman ostracized for her crimes, but her family had "shockingly" declared bankruptcy. Vlad Incorporations, thankfully, never lost their investment, considering they managed to intervene before anymore damage could be brought into the folds. Still, Jeremy would be lying if he said he wasn't curious; it seemed Mrs. Johnson had more potential if Vlad was using her.

Much to his surprise, Samantha wasn't there. It was funny; the prosecution did say she was the one who supplied the evidence, but she was never there to testify for the trial. Now that he thought about it, none of the Masters were, even though it directly involved them. Jeremy thought it strange, to leave them out of it. Then again, perhaps they were just too busy; the trial went on for several days, and despite the overwhelming evidence against her, Mrs. Johnson refused to go down without a fight. Her husband, on the other hand, had already give in; from what Jeremy's heard, the divorce papers will be signed soon.

Since then, there hadn't been much on the headlines about the Masters. As Daniel promised, he showed up to deliver the gut wrenching news, forcing the candidates to start trying to guilt him into convincing his father to fundraise for their campaigns. He only continued on his way, no doubt irritated at their childish disbelief. How could Daniel just turn them away like that? No one rejects them! No one!

But just an hour later, they were all silent.

* * *

The reporter managed to make himself a regular visitor to Vlad Incorporations, much to the chagrin of the paparazzi. Whenever he showed up, it seems Daniel was always there, ready to talk. Though their conversations always reared around the company, as well as Vladimir's health, Jeremy admitted that it was better than nothing. The boy had even made special provisions, to to ensure that Jeremy wasn't hounded by any "unnecessary complications." It was all completely unreal to the reporter; to think that Jeremy was actually _good friends_ with Daniel Masters was a bit of an understatement. And though the assignment still weighed heavily against the reporter's mind, the little tidbit on Vlad Masters and Jasmine's charity parties managed to keep Mr. Albercorn at bay. Soon, it all fell into routine.

There was one day, however, that struck out at him. As usual, that same old receptionist was there, the one who still refused to give him the time of day. And of course, as usual, he just walked right past her, hoping to find Daniel. It'd been a while since his last visit, so hopefully, Daniel would still remember him.

Jeremy went to the elevator and pressed the usual button; 15, right? And it was Thursday, just after 4, so the boy should still be there; as far as he was concerned, Vladimir was still on vacation.

He stepped into the office, and froze.

There were two men in that office, both wearing white business suits with neat, black ties snuggly fitted across their necks. Stern expressions held fast to their faces, as they towered over a teenage girl, who seemed just as rebellious, just as uncooperative. Jeremy's eyes widened, as he stared at Samantha, who looked just as shocked as he.

She was wearing a black minidress at the time, with a small, gray jacket over it. Tight, black stockings covered her pale skin, along with black combat boots that hugged her legs. The same purple lipstick covered her lips. Her hair cascaded down to her waist. From here, it looked like she was getting ready to go somewhere, though for some reason, the men stopped her. Jeremy looked at the men, then back at the girl, who managed to brush aside Jeremy's presence. She regarded the men evenly, putting both hands on her hips. "Are you finished?" she asked icily.

"We still have more questions." one of the men said haughtily.

"I told you I don't know anything about it."

"Our resources suggest otherwise." his partner chimed.

"I told you once, I've told you a thousand times; Vlad Incorporations has nothing to do with that. The doors are right there."

"But-"

"I'm done," she cut in, as she walked towards the elevator. Jeremy hastily moved out of her way, and though he received a strange look from her, she opened the doors, and waited impatiently for the men to leave. "Here's the door."

One of the men scowled. "If you don't cooperate-"

"I'm done cooperating."

"But-"

"She said she's done," Jeremy finally spoke, causing all three to turn to him. Though his apprehension returned, he took a deep breath, and disregarded it completely. "You can't just barge in here and interrogate her like this. Like it or not, she's still a minor."

"And who the heck are you?"

"Jeremy Müller," he answered confidently, as he folded his arms over his chest. "In case you're wondering, I'm a reporter."

The two men stopped for a single moment. They looked back at Samantha, who was now gesturing them inside the elevator. After an eternity of silence, one of the men scowled at Jeremy. He then turned to Samantha. "This _isn't_ over."

"On the contrary," she replied smoothly, as they walked in. The elevator doors slowly shut then, and before long, the two were left in the office, both still staring at the now empty space in front of them.

Jeremy looked down at the girl again. She still held herself, still kept a carefully guarded expression over her face. She waited for a few more seconds, before spinning her heel and walking back towards the desk. She leaned forward, picked up a pen, and started writing something. Jeremy blinked, as he looked back at the elevator door. He turned back to the girl, then went towards her. "Are you okay?" he finally asked.

"Peachy."

"What was that all about?"

"Just some new regulations. How'd you even get up here?"

That's right; Jeremy didn't know her that well, did he? "I'm a friend of your brother's."

Immediately, she stopped. Slowly, she looked up, her glare softening at the mention of it. She straightened then, the pen still in hand. "I remember you now; from the party, right?"

Jeremy nodded. "That's right. I came to see if Daniel was still here, or if he'd gone home, or…?"

"Something else came up," she stated aimlessly. "You've been covering that blow up with the candidates, right?"

"Well, me and every other reporter in the nation."

She sighed. "Are you here for an interview? Dad will be back tomorrow-"

Jeremy shook his head. "No, it's fine. Congratulations, by the way."

The girl resumed working. "On what?" she asked after a while.

"That arrest…with Mrs. Johnson. Everyone was completely shocked, you know."

"She needed to be taken down, and that was the fastest way to do it."

"Yeah; Daniel told me about it."

"Figured he'd do something like that. And you're both friends, right?"

Jeremy paused for a moment, before nodding. "I think we are."

Samantha remained quiet as she continued working. Jeremy regarded her for a bit, before he turned to gaze out at the buildings. He'd been into every single one, able to pinpoint the truth and the lies from just a simple glance. He uncovered those secrets without a single moment of hesitation, had pried them out of unsuspecting bystanders, demolished whatever privacy there was left when it came to violators from societal norms. It was strange, why he couldn't do that with Vlad Incorporations.

Samantha narrowed her eyes. "Danny will be back later tonight. You can come visit us then."

Us?

Jeremy blinked, not believing his luck. "Really?" was all he could say.

"Danny had a lot of nice things to say about you," she said, stacking the papers into a single, neat pile on the desk. Jeremy looked down, her signature flourishing the documents like a frightening, official stamp. "And frankly, I've heard about you. You like working with scandals, don't you?"

"It's not sensationalism, if that's what you're implying."

"No; the information is all accurate."

Jeremy bit the inside of his cheek. "So hey-"

"What is it?"

"Who…were those guys anyways? You don't have to worry, I won't tell anyone."

"I know you won't," she replied easily. "Besides, even if you did, it's nothing new."

"Nothing new?"

"The GIW," she answered nonchalantly. She sat on top of the desk then, glaring half-heartedly at the door. "If you ask me, they're just a bunch of ungrateful brats. How much more could they possibly want anyways?"

It took Jeremy a split second to realize her meaning. "You've been funding them?"

"They are with the government, after all," she responded. "And it's not like they're using those funds for anything bad. In fact, the only thing they are doing with it is paying the price for their own egos."

Jeremy turned back to her, surprised at the biting remark. "Then why do you do it?"

She shrugged. "Dad will be more than happy to answer you."

"…So you don't know."

Samantha gave him a playful smile. "If I did, you think they'd be here?"

Jeremy couldn't help but laugh. "Touché. And what're you going to do to them, when all the money stops going to them? Will they end up just like poor Mrs. Johnson?"

She chuckled. "I highly resent that."


	4. Chapter 3

It wasn't long before Jeremy found himself talking with both Samantha and Daniel.

It started after that night, after the GIW had left. Nowadays, Jeremy showed up at Vlad Incorporations, he'd find Samantha there, whether it be to accompany her father to yet another one of his business meetings, or simply to spy on an associate who'd been taking bribes from the competition. Oftentimes, Daniel would be there too, his role more obvious than his sister's. By the time Jeremy came by, somehow, both their work would be done, and they'd relish their newfound freedom in the reporter. It didn't matter what the three of them talked about, nor was it something Jeremy had even bothered considering. They were just, dare he say it, friends, hanging out together. He never visited the castle, no; rather, they always hung around the company building, and however awkward that might've seemed, to Jeremy, it felt comfortable, normal.

Jeremy made it a point never to bring up the GIW; after a countless number of awkward silences and tense pauses, he knew that neither Daniel nor Samantha, or rather, Danny or Sam, wanted to even touch the subject. The very mention of the GIW was enough to irritate them, and though he wanted them to say something, anything, that'd, at the very least, make them feel better, in the end, they refused to do so. Rather, they changed the subject all too fast, endeavoring to avoid what felt like an interrogation. Jeremy didn't mean to make them feel uncomfortable, and he'd always apologize if he did; nevertheless, it was a good lesson to learn. And since then, Jeremy had painfully accepted the fact he couldn't do anything else for them.

As the days passed, Jeremy became better acquainted with the teenagers. Much to his pleasant surprise, they demolished his expectations. Apparently, Danny liked playing video games, so much so he's managed to destroy the reporter more times than he could count in Resident Evil and Super Smash. Sam was good too, but she was more adept to online games, nothing else. They liked horror movies, sometimes action, a bit of romance now and then, though for some strange reason, they still somehow gravitated towards horror. In fact, the last time they watched a thriller, he was afraid to go anywhere, save to work, and even then he didn't like staying in his house alone.

Like every other teenager, they enjoyed their sleep. From what he's heard, there were times they'd stay late at night, whether it be to talk, or to play some more games, or to just lie there, staring up at the ceiling in complete silence. Work never crossed their minds during that sacred time. Jeremy caught a sanctified glimpse of those moments through tiny, meticulous hints within their plentiful conversations, though he decided to leave it be, knowing full well that if he pondered on the topic a bit more, he'd be violating their trust. He's never heard they mention a single thing about their biological parents, nothing at all that pertained to their mysterious backgrounds. Rather, they took their minds off such things, relaxing their brains with whatever playful illusions they could come up with.

It was funny, really. The jokes they made, the pranks they've pulled together; it all reminded him of just a couple of kids trying to blow off some steam. Jeremy loved the world Danny and Sam introduced him to. But despite that, he felt like he didn't belong, not only because he couldn't keep up with them, but because they carried trivial secrets he had no right to ask about. To them, he was probably just another worrywart, who had no qualms on keeping tabs on them.

Still, Jeremy did manage to have a bit of fun of his own. Every single rumor that revolved around the teens, incestuous and demonic alike, was happily disproven. He had to admit he was a little curious, but all the same, he kicked himself for even entertaining those notions. Yes, they did seem closer to each other than normal siblings, but that was between them. And besides which, Jeremy was experienced; if there was something else going on, he would've already picked up on it. They had their fair share of fights, like regular siblings did, but he could tell just how deeply they cared for each other. That alone was enough to lay Jeremy's somewhat disturbing curiosity to rest.

The more he spent time with them, the more that perfect image of the prodigal son and vigilante daughter faded from him. The pedestal Jeremy had placed them up on slowly eroded away, and any grandeur illusion he still tied them with now vanished into thin air. In his wake, were just two kids.

And it was then he felt lucky.

He was lucky that they invited him along.

He was lucky to have met them, to see them in all their normalcy.

He once asked them if they needed help with the latest of their ventures. Apparently, there was a troublesome politician who kept bothering Vlad Masters, and he knew more than enough that Danny and Sam would take care of the woman. Jeremy didn't know the details behind the heated feud, but if his friends were paying attention to it, it must've been serious. The assignment Jeremy had been forced into had long since been finished, and his career had never been better, what with him being a close friend to the Masters family. Jeremy, with the help of Danny and Sam, was influential; he could easily pull a few strings, just to make sure that politician didn't bother them again.

They, of course, refused, and left it at that.

* * *

Like that receptionist said, Vlad Masters was a busy man.

Still, he made sure he had enough time to check up on the teens.

The phone calls started some time after Jeremy became friends with the two. Like any other parent, he'd ask how the two were doing, whether or not they were causing any trouble. No, they were just fine. Yes, they were doing all that they needed to to make sure they didn't tarnish that name. Oh, it doesn't matter? Huh, it seemed that the kids cared more than Vlad Masters himself, on how the name should be handled.

Even if they've never talked face to face, the reporter could see what the man's expression was, just by his tone alone. Worried, concerned, relieved, somewhat frustrated; all of the emotions would burst over the connection within a few minutes. Danny had already informed his father of Jeremy's undying respect. Sam had taken it upon herself to tell Mr. Masters the very important fact that Jeremy won't tell the public anything they didn't want him to. At first, the man was a bit wary, as he should be. But over time, as Sam and Danny kept up with their amiable compliments of the reporter, soon, even Vlad began trusting him.

It felt good, actually. To be trusted with their emotions, to sit in the front row seat and observe the family's intimate functions. Jeremy could happily state that he wasn't the least disappointed; everything they did, everything they talked about, all resembled a normal family.

Jeremy was, for lack of a better word, content.

Those happy-go-lucky feelings, however, were cut short.

Jeremy was walking towards Vlad Incorporations as usual. He just got paid, and since all his bills were taken cared of, he decided he was going to treat Sam and Danny to a nice, little meal at the Nasty Burger downtown. Though he knew they appreciated the fancy food their father had always given them, Jeremy also knew they preferred something more down to earth. The desire had actually stemmed from Jasmine, who once managed to sneak them out of one of their father's business meetings. Since the limo wasn't there yet, the eldest decided to take her two siblings to a nearby restaurant, and they've been in love with the food since then.

He was about to walk into the building, when he saw a plethora of people rushing towards him, the panic so clearly written all over their faces.

He saw the receptionist, desperately clawing her way through the crowds, the tears streaming down her cheeks.

He saw the guards, trying to hustle everyone along, all the while looking back, confusion marring their faces.

He saw various business tycoons, screaming for help, pleading that someone, anyone, save them from the monster inside.

He saw Vlad Masters stumbling into his arms.

And when he looked up, he saw familiar, white helicopters, surrounding the company building.

* * *

It was a long, agonizing wait.

Jeremy remembered seeing Vlad Masters searching through the crowds, asking again and again if anyone had seen Danny or Sam anywhere. He remembered hearing a black limo screeching to a startlingly stop, with Jasmine scrambling out of the car, fighting her way through the stunned reporters, gripping her father with a frightening sense of urgency. He remembered how the reporters kept being shoved back by the very same agents that harassed Sam the other night. He remembered how they all kept saying that everything was going to be alright, that things were going to be different, that they didn't have anything to be afraid of. He remembered how cold they looked, how indifferent they were to everyone's panicking screams, when, at last, someone heard Vlad Masters's screams.

No one heard their pleas. No one heard their cries. The officials kept looking ahead, all the while pushing back the violently terrified crowds. Parents screamed for their own children, clutching them against themselves. Friends held friends, as they looked at the building, thankful that none of their loved ones were inside. Conspiracy theorists, small business men, the most obscure of the populations; they all came out, demanding to know what was going on. They all wanted answers, all wanted to know if everyone was really accounted for, if anyone had been left inside. And when they saw Vlad Masters, screeching at them, demanding that he be let in, they realized the gravity of the situation.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Jeremy first heard. "What's going on here?!"

One of the men, the GIW, as Jeremy disgustingly realized, walked up to Mr. Masters, and smiled his cruel smile. "This company is now under the possession of the GIW."

"What gives you the right-?!"

"Don't worry sir," he said. "We'll take care of everything."

"We're not asking you again," Jasmine warned, as she came to Mr. Masters's side. "What _exactly_ are you doing?"

"Ma'am, I can assure you, once this is over, the GIW will pay for whatever damage we've-"

" _PAYS?!"_ Vlad screeched, causing everyone around him to flinch. "Who do you think signs your checks!? This is your _last_ warning-!"

"Everyone, please step back!" another agent announced, causing the Masters, Jeremy, and the workers to turn toward the man with a hateful gleam in their eyes. "If you don't, we'll have to-!"

Sickening gunshots resounded from the air.

A few minutes later, an explosion sounded from high above the air.

* * *

There was an ambulance.

There were two body bags.

Jasmine screamed her siblings' names; Vlad Masters broke down beside Jeremy, crying in utter agony; the crowds roared in rage by the fact the men refused to allow them to see the bodies. And all the while Jeremy stood there, motionless, an eternity passing him by.

He stood there.

And watched.

And waited.

Yet there was still nothing.


	5. Callous

She replayed the memories over and over and over again, trying to see if there was anything she'd missed, anything at all that might've given away their motivations. She scanned their obscure faces, endeavoring to ask them through the monitor why they did what they did, why they were threatening everyone now. She pleaded with them silently, attempting to force them in her mind to give up, to somehow salvage the damage they've dealt to both themselves, as well as their shattered prides, to go back to that normal, happy life they all enjoyed. She prayed that it wasn't them there, on that screen.

But it was them.

 _It was them._

She followed the crowds to the harbors, the evacuation protocol now fully implemented. Carefully, the police led them away from the danger, all the while attempting to get a sense as to what would've pushed the culprits to do something as drastic as this. Though the teens were a bit radical, no one ever thought they had the guts to pull off a full blown terrorist attack. It just wasn't like them; the children they knew were smart, kindhearted, did whatever they could to help anyone and everyone. They, like their sister, were dear to everyone's hearts, however impossible it might've seemed now. Even still, there were supporters trying to get in contact with the Masters, trying to determine what exactly was going on. No one was ready to write them off as criminals.

She gripped the tight rails, her fingers almost breaking the burningly icy metal. Her hair blew from her face, the ocean breeze reminding her of more nostalgic times. She was about to look ahead, when someone reached over and grabbed her shoulder. She turned back, and saw her audience there, with hopeful, yet confused expressions on their face. Though the silence permeated the tense atmosphere, she could all hear them asking the same question.

Why?

What pushed them to go this far? Did they merely snap under the pressure of being followed all the time? Did they suffer at the hands of the GIW, who still had the city under their control? Were they planning this from the very beginning? What were they hoping to accomplish, by hovering ten different _Tsar Bombas_ over the entire country?

As the debates continued, with their plentiful enemies accusing Vlad Incorporations of funding the teens' fanciful violence, she couldn't help but turn back. She tuned out the accusations and pleas, the cries and defenses, those irritating patriots now questioning the legitimacy of the family's loyalty, and instead, focused on the now fading horizon. Helpless, alone, with nothing but each other to cling to; it was just like before, when they first arrived at the castle. Covered in bruises, the silence draped across their fragile, battered bodies, she vowed she'd keep them safe. She wouldn't allow them to slip back into the clutches of abuse, wouldn't allow them to return to a hell neither wanted to tell her about. She was going to be the perfect older sister, if only for their sakes, and the sakes of her missing parents.

And she failed.

She closed her eyes, and turned back. She needed to deal with the interrogations now; so far, it seems no one could bear to link her to the attack. So she took a deep breath, walked towards them in the same, elegant manner, a tight, serious frown plastered on her face. That reporter, Jeremy, obediently followed behind her, a carefully guarded expression on his face, the concern so deeply embedded in his eyes. She stared at him for a while, before giving him a small, brief smile. She's done this before; she can do it again.

It was only after did she realize her father was missing.

* * *

Author's Note:

-Hello, I am the Seelie Court Jester.

-The Russian Tsar Bomba is considered to be humanity's most powerful nuke. 3800 times more powerful than the Nagasaki and Hiroshima atomic bombs, the Tsar Bomba is a hydrogen bomb that could destroy entire cities and anything surrounding it. According to the Daily Mail from the UK, the bomb has a fireball radius of 1.88 miles, a radiation radius of 4.65 miles, and a thermal radiation radius of 47.88 miles. The radiation dose is 500 rem, which means between 50% to 90% of the population will die from radiation affects alone. As for the thermal radiation, it's enough to give third degree burns all around. If ten of these bombs were hovering above the United States, it definitely would be considered an act of terror.


	6. Chapter 4

Even after all these years, Jazz loved them. She loved them so very much.

And just like any other child, she refused to believe they were dead. They never found their bodies, so how could they be dead?

No, they were missing.

Just missing.

* * *

Though Jazz was so little, she remembered practically everything about her parents. The kind look in their eyes, their spontaneously crazy ways, the gentle warmth they both carried whenever she or Danny started to cry. She liked following them around all the time, and though they've had to hold her down a couple of times, always threatening to tickle her if she tried getting up again, nothing could keep her away from them; even for her age, she was incredibly strong-willed. She remembered this one time, when they left her alone to take care of Danny. They had a lot of work they had to do in the labs, so they made her promise that she wouldn't follow them down. That promise, of course, didn't hold. When they found her, though they were both a bit disappointed, they carried out their humorous threats, her roaring laughter spilling from the lab they worked in. Mom promised to make cookies afterwards, but when Dad got that hungry look in his eyes, Jazz slammed her tiny fists playfully into his knee, squealing that those cookies were hers…well, hers _and_ Danny's. He tousled her bright, orange hair after that, and told her he'd wrestle her for them.

But when they really were serious, when they told her not to disturb them when they were working, either because they were in the process of selling a new invention to the government, or merely indulging themselves with their ghost-hunting hobbies, Jazz knew better than to play around. When those rare moments came, she'd simply pick up a good book, and read until she heard those welcoming footsteps approach her. Other times, she's simply plant herself in front of a plastic globe, and twirl it around in her fingers. She did try playing with Danny once, but then again, hide-and-seek wasn't always the best game to play, especially if there were weapons lying around.

Still, even if the house wasn't the safest environment for children, Jazz was incredibly proud of her parents. Scientists, inventors; in Jazz's mind they could do it all. Dad always laid the blueprints down for future inventions, and Mom made those blueprints come to life. He got to test them out, and she recorded the results. Understandably, it frustrated Jazz to no end that the field they were working in didn't interest her. The fact that her dad always rambled on and on about said work didn't help, but nonetheless, she pretended she was interested.

However, little precocious Danny was different from his older sister. From what she could remember, he was interested in their parents' work, though he would never admit it. Still, Jazz thought it was just another passing, another interest that would soon fade to oblivion. After all, it was hard to tell with him; he was always a bit quiet, a little shy, but friendly nonetheless. Never one to strike up a conversation, he was one of those kids who tended to stay away from the outside, which, admittedly, was a courtesy of Mom, who told him the gruesome realities of stranger danger. More often than not, he'd usually spend time by his lonesome, trying to come up with ways to satisfy his boredom, so he was never one to call much attention to himself.

But that didn't mean he wasn't just as curious as his sister. Before he started preschool, once or twice, he'd follow Jazz down to their parents' lab. His eyes would grow wide with anticipation when he saw what their parents did, the electrical wires bursting through the air, the sparks flying throughout the atmosphere. She could tell he liked being in there, from coughing helplessly at yet another failed invention, to investigating that strange smell that always lingered there for weeks on end. Though Dad usually told him to go up and wait for them, Danny never did. Even when everyone thought he was gone, Danny still stayed behind, probably hiding underneath the table with a small, dorky pout on his face.

For a couple of years, it'd always been just the four of them; Mom, Dad, her, and Danny. Jazz would be lying if she said she didn't enjoy those times. She loved the way her parents doted on the siblings, spoiling them not with money, but with love and affection. In her tiny little brain, she was in a kingdom, her parents as the rulers, and she and Danny as the princess and prince. And like any good princess, she promised herself that no matter what happened, she would protect them, the kingdom and her family. She wouldn't allow any harm to come to them, else she'd fail as future heir to the throne. Jazz let the fantasy play out for a few more years, and by the time she started second grade, she grew out of it of course. The feelings, fortunately, remained.

The years have gone by so quickly. Birthdays, holidays, regular days; they all seemed to pass her so easily. She'd forgotten the age when she stopped with following her parents, forgotten the time when Danny disappeared from her side, and instead, ventured out into the outside world, overcoming the overprotective fear Mom instilled in him. She'd forgotten when she started criticizing her parents' work, simply because she didn't understand the appeal of studying "ghosts." She'd forgotten when she decided to give up her childhood and grow up, knowing full well that their parents' were more passionate about experiments than the children themselves. She'd forgotten when she decided to leave Danny to the care of his friends, as she began indulging herself in the brilliant world of academia.

But eventually, those precious memories came crashing back.

She was walking home from the elementary school one day. As usual, she carried a large book in one hand, her tiny eyes scanning the even tinier text. Her arms were getting tired, but she persevered, unwilling and unable to put the textbook down. She couldn't remember what kind of textbook it was, but it was obvious it was a textbook that a third grader shouldn't have been able to comprehend, let alone enjoy. She remembered getting funny looks from the adults around her as she kept walking home. She was about to open the door, when she heard loud sirens blaring in her ear.

Mom tugged her inside, and squeezed her. Dad was stuffing something in a bag, and when he looked down at her, he smiled worriedly. She could hear them saying something about picking up Danny, could hear reassuring both each other and her that everything was going to be alright. Mom told her to go down to the lab, and stay there for a bit. Jazz obeyed. She hid down in the labs, and waited.

It was all a blur from there.

Screaming.

Crying.

A gunshot.

Footsteps coming down into the lab.

Hard, metallic footsteps.

Footsteps that made Jazz curl up in a single corner in the lab, trying to will herself away from her fear.

The door opened.

Two men, dressed in white, standing before her.

* * *

She remembered running.

She remembered them trying to amble after her, the house's defense system already attacking the unwelcome intruders.

She remembered her big, strong Dad, limping away desperately from the house.

She remembered her gentle Mom, pushing her into the family RV, tears streaming down her face.

There was a crash.

A sea of torrential white swarmed around her.

She stayed in the shadow of the car, doing everything she could to stay hidden.

Mom was screaming.

Dad was crying.

They fought, long and hard.

* * *

And the next thing Jazz knew, she was clutching her bleeding arm, eyes wide with fright. They were telling her to run, her parents. They were telling her to get away, to do whatever it took to get to safety. They kept screaming how much they loved her.

Panicked.

Pained.

She didn't dare look behind at the city once known as Amity Park.

* * *

She could only ever recall numbness, after that. All a blank, from the kingdom she'd just abandoned.

Something stopped her from going back, though she didn't know what. Her parents? The men? The desperation in their voices? The fact that when she turned around, they were still fighting, trying to do whatever they could to keep her safe? And what of Danny? Was he okay? Did he get caught up in all of this? He was still in school with his friends, when those men first attacked.

Gradually, the questions faded. Frustration gave way to loneliness, crying to silence.

She flinched at anything that remotely resembled white, or red, or black, or green. She stayed by herself, never bothering to understand the helpless purgatory the white men pushed her into. No, she wasn't angry. How could she? An eight-year old, who barely held any interest to the real world, who decided to abandon reality for her own, intellectual imagination; how could she see?

How?

How many years did she spend, in some rundown orphanage somewhere, far, far away, waiting on the front porch of the stairs? How many years did she waste outside, waiting for her parents to come find her, for her little brother to come racing towards her, with that adorable smile on his face? How many years did she sit in the nothingness of her own mind, refusing to learn anything at all, at least, not until her parents came to her? How many years had it been since she opened a book, the very essence of it toxic to her own vulnerabilities? How many years did she spend pondering on what she could've done to save them? How many years spent sitting up, in the stillness of night, praying over and over again that they'd see her, that they'd come racing to the door and demanding that they see Jazz? How many years has it been since she'd become so numb, her brain blocking out every single memory tied to the incident, her emotions violently breaking through the barriers of whatever was left of her fragile sanity?

Psychiatrists, one after the other, came to see her. All the kids at the orphanage avoided the weird kid. To them, she was the monster who never ate, never slept, who was always getting in trouble with the counselor or the ward, who had sad, baggy eyes, who always stared off into the empty space, never wasting her time with the sunlit skies. She was a problem child; she wouldn't tell them what was wrong, couldn't do anything that could've pried the information from her.

Then again, it wasn't just them. She didn't want the touching her. She didn't want them coming anywhere near her; she knew full well they were just going to probe her mind again. She hated the food at the orphanage, hated the way they tried coaxing her into eating. She hated how they kept smiling at her, the sympathy quickly fading from their eyes. She hated the kids and how they treated her. She hated her silence, how she would always choke up and cry whenever she tried mentioning the incident. She hated the nightmares she suffered from, hated how they always kept waking her up, with the sounds of primal instinct still coursing through her veins. She hated it.

She really did.

They'll come, she promised herself. Her parents will come, with little Danny in tow. They'll come, and they'd go back to their normal life again. From then on, Jazz promised to be a better daughter, that she'd take an active interest in ghost-hunting. She would be a good sister, and never let Danny out of her sight again. She would be the greatest student ever, helping anyone and everyone, just like her old, childish self would. She wouldn't let anything hurt her family, as she told herself so very long ago. She'll be the brave, fierce princess, who destroyed anyone who tried annihilating her kingdom, and her family.

Her parents will come.

They'll get her out.

Jazz wasn't going to stay here forever.

* * *

A mysterious, sorrowful man came one day, by the name of Vlad Masters.

* * *

Her first real memory was when Vlad Masters brought her into his castle.

Jazz remembered how big everything was. She remembered stumbling around the floor, the high ceilings making her tiny head spin. She remembered just sitting there, not crying, not staring into space, not even resisting when he gently nudged her along, telling her quietly that this was going to be her new home. She remembered the fatigue scorching her body, her tiny brain too tired to protest, too in awe to even consider the magnitude of his words. She remembered swaying back and forth, back and forth, with whatever little belongings she had on hand now threatening to fall onto the floor. She remembered a man taking those belongings, a butler, like the ones in the movies. She remembered him coming behind Vlad Masters.

He showed her everything, Mr. Masters. The ballroom, the dinning room, the kitchenette, the tennis courts and swimming pools, the library…

And then there was her bedroom.

Big, really big, and sleek too. Sleek and sophisticated, with everything she could possibly ask for.

But despite that, she still looked up at the kind man, with wonder in her pupils. She remembered him; she saw his face in one of her parents' old photographs. Though they've never talked about him, she saw them smiling with him, as if there there was nothing wrong with the world.

She turned to look up at him, and asked, "When will mommy and daddy come?"

He knelt down in front of her. He put her hand on her shoulder, but when he talked, no sound came out.

She blinked. "Mister?"

An eternity passed between the two. Finally, _finally,_ Mr. Masters ruffled her hair, with a sad smile tugging at his lips. "They'll be here soon princess," he whispered gently. "They'll be here."


	7. Chapter 5

Jazz wasn't particularly interested in anything the strange man had to offer. She ignored the new clothes that appeared in her already giant wardrobe, brushed aside all the fancy food he placed on her table, and only ever shrugged at the thought of his library. In fact, the girl would've preferred it not be there to begin with, though in the end, she still chose to spend her time there. After all, it was the only place she could go for any whereabouts on her parents, or her little brother. Rarely did she ever open up a book there, and even when her mind cried out for it, she shoved away those desires, never one to give into temptation.

The first night, when she ate dinner in the castle, she was silent. She didn't feel like eating, no matter what anyone else did, no matter who tried coaxing her. Mr. Masters kept asking if she was okay, if she was hungry, but Jazz simply shook her head; she wouldn't say anything to him. She still remembered Mom's warning, about stranger-danger. Even if the girl was in his house, even if her parents knew him, Jazz held fast to those precious words, and continued with her uncooperative attitude. She remembered pushing the chair away from her tiny chest, and promptly leaving for her room. She locked the door that night, and slept.

The following nights were a bit easier to handle, though of course, she hadn't gotten used to all the butlers and maids waiting on her, the impatience embedded in their frowns. Normally, she wouldn't have found them outside one of Danny's superhero movies, but here they were, ready to do everything they could to please her. It was so weird; she felt like they were always watching her, pressuring her into moving faster so that the day could be over, ensuring that they gave her the sweetest of compliments, if only for the sake of their raise. Sometimes, she'd catch them giving her a strange look, their whispers easily circulating around her back. Though they would always give her those same, pitying eyes, Jazz could already deduce their lack of empathy. In fact, perhaps the only time the servants ever really bothered taking care of her was whenever Mr. Masters was around. She didn't know when it got to be too much to handle, but Jazz did remember asked if they could all leave her alone. Mr. Masters obliged, and before she knew it, no one was around. She felt relieved, for the first time in a while.

Yet those prying eyes were replaced by a more stubborn obstacle. She couldn't even begin to recall how many times Mr. Masters knocked on her door, even if it was just to make sure she was alright. Usually, his requests ranged from watching a simple movie, to playing chess; just one or two rounds. Or checkers; Jazz always liked checkers. Or even cards, or poker; it didn't matter, as long as Jazz came out of her room.

Personally, Jazz wasn't up to it most of the time. She knew she sucked at chess, even if Mr. Masters kept letting her win, and though she destroyed him at checkers, she was all too bored of that game. And besides, she felt like she had better things to do with her time. Having Mr. Masters hanging around her like would only get in her way.

However, over time she gradually warmed up to him. The emotions manifested one evening, when Mr. Masters pulled (dragged) her from her room to share a game of chess.

As usual, Jazz was staring off into space, while waiting on Mr. Masters to make a move. Her sad little eyes were brimming with annoyance, as she fought the urge to look down at the board. The layout was so complicated Jazz never bothered paying attention. She didn't understand why the man liked playing the game so much, but then again, she couldn't understand him much at all.

She laid her little head on her arms, and bit her lip. At that point, Jazz didn't have the heart to ask the man, once more, when her parents were coming to get her; if they were looking for her, they'd be there by now. Her mind kept racing for explanations, wondering if they'd simply given up on looking, if they had already moved somewhere, if they were even alright. She couldn't help but close her eyes, her frail hands kept hovering over the pieces, stroking the night with sleepy eyes.

She couldn't help but look up at the man, who was still looking at the board quizzically. Surprise was etched into his eyes. It looked like he wanted to ask her something, but for some reason, he refrained from doing so.

Jazz looked up. "Your turn," she said quietly.

"I know, I know," he murmured softly.

After a few minutes passed, she repeated, "Your turn."

"Right dear girl; just be patient."

She blinked. Before long, she looked back down. The black and white pieces made her head spin. Still, she felt like she recognized the pattern from somewhere.

The girl cocked her head. Mom and Dad used to play chess all the time. Dad always beat Mom, but there was this one time, when she managed to turn the tables. Jazz knew, because moments later, she got up and started dancing, leaving Dad to stare incredulously at the board.

Then her eyes widened.

She stared at the man, and beamed. "Checkmate," her squeaky voice stated.

Mr. Masters regarded her, a slow smile forming on his lips. "Don't be so sure dear girl." With one, swift move, he maneuvered the horsey over to the cross thingy. Jazz narrowed her eyes, as she got up on her knees, and leaned over toward the board. Her orange hair spilled on her shoulders, her eyes sparked by the challenge. She picked up one piece, the one that looked like a rectangle, and got rid of the horsey. "Checkmate," she said again.

He moved one piece.

She moved another.

He moved the ball piece.

Her lady piece destroy it.

He moved another rectangle piece.

And she killed that too.

By the time the game was over, Jazz stared down at all the white pieces she's managed to capture. She then looked over at the pieces that Mr. Masters had, and giggled, his reaction cautiously winning her over. She moved her lady piece over, and finally captured the king. She swayed back and forth happily, as she looked up at Mr. Masters, who was still staring at the board. She giggled again. "I won."

Mr. Masters snapped back to reality. He smiled then. "You're right Jasmine," he said quietly. "You won."

She paused for a brief moment, before shaking her head. "Those times don't count!"

"What're you-?"

"You let me win all those other times, didn't you Mr. Masters?"

"Oh?" he asked, raising an amused eyebrow. He settled back in his seat, hands folded neatly in his lap. "And whatever gave you that idea?"

"Because last time, you let me kill your horsey!" she explained.

"…Horsey…?"

"This thing!" she stated, as she lifted up the piece. Mr. Masters took a split second to examine the piece in question, before chuckling. "A knight, my dear."

"A what?"

"A knight."

Jazz stared down at the piece, and furrowed her eyebrows.

There's _no_ way.

No possible way.

In her expert opinion, this was _not_ a knight. Knights are supposed to be big and strong, and they were supposed to make sure that the princesses are always saved by the end of the fairytales. They were handsome, and vigilant, and…well, _human._ The girlie she held in her hand was anything but.

Jazz looked up defiantly at Mr. Masters. "Nu-uh."

"It's true."

"No."

"It is."

They kept going back and forth like that for the rest of the night.

After that, slowly, but surely, the apprehension started to leave her. Soon, everything became routine; she would get up, eat breakfast, see Mr. Masters off, wander around the castle for a bit, then go to bed. She rarely ever went to the library, and if she did, it was only because she was thought she'd found another lead. And yet, despite that lead, she'd find herself staying there for hours on end, just staring at those books with her wide, empty eyes, her curiosity getting harder and harder to ignore with each passing day.

She didn't know when it happened, when she finally mustered up the courage to read a single book. The shelves were so high, but she managed to grab it. When she pulled the cover to her face, elegant words flashed before her eyes, the golden seams reflecting her lonely expression back up at her. She read the title, and then…

She stood there, for the longest time.

It was a bedtime story, a fairy tale Mom used to read to her, and after that, what Jazz would read to Danny. Except with him, she would replace all the princes with Superman and Batman, the princesses with damsels in distresses, the kingdom with a metropolis of some sort, a city that only she could come up with.

She couldn't help but smile at the title, and before she knew it, she curled up somewhere, in the loneliest corner of the library, and read.

By the time Mr. Masters came back to the castle, Jazz remembered ambling up to him excitedly. She held the book up to him, and asked if he could read it to her after dinner.

* * *

Days became weeks, weeks became months, months years. Jazz started calling Mr. Masters "Father" over time, the connotation fitting the old man somehow. He did hire private tutors for her, knowing full well that sooner or later, Jazz would have to make her debut, not as a normal, middle-class girl, but as an intelligent, charismatic socialite. The girl understood that, and so, she started picking up those shattered remains of her old life, and molded them into a kaleidoscope known as Jasmine Masters.

Jazz leaned on everything she taught herself, and excelled in every subject that came her way. She practiced her foreign languages, annihilated those tests, and somehow, managed to get herself through her numbness. There were times when she found herself staring up at the ceiling, not to wonder when her family was going to show, or if Danny was safe, or if she would ever see them again; rather, she thought about what tomorrow would bring to her, whether or not her adopted father would get off from work early again, if she could somehow sneak into his office, and surprise him with some made-up holiday she fantasized just moments before. Still, her family was always in the back of her mind, and when the anticipation had gone, when the excitement died down, she couldn't help but feel guilty about her own happiness, the remorse crushing down on her chest so easily. Then worry would overtake her, and then…nothing. The cycle would just repeat for the next day.

It wasn't long before Jazz lost her patience with that cycle. Yes, she loved her father, but she also loved them. Mr. Masters told her that they were coming for her, and to this day, she still clung to that belief. And if they weren't going to find her, then she was going to find them.

It was one of the reasons why she started doing those charity drives, one of the reasons why she started traveling all over the world. She told herself that she wasn't going to wallow in self-pity, at least, not anymore. If her parents were out there, and if they found her like this, what would they say? What would Danny say? No, she couldn't depend on them anymore. They might've gotten themselves into really bad trouble. They might've been searching for her too, but they just couldn't find her. There were a million reasons why they weren't there, and if any one of them were true, then Jazz needed to put herself out there.

Thankfully, Mr. Masters supported her endeavors. He told her that it gave her a chance to see what kind of people were watching her. It was tough, she had to admit. When the wealthy socialites heard that Mr. Masters had an adopted daughter, they immediately flocked around her. Like the servants before, they all kept demanding favors from her, kept complimenting her, with the same, avaricious eyes she'd grown to expect. When they heard about the charity parties, those wealthy circles made sure to give a portion of their income to the Masters, some as donations, others as bribes. Of course, Jazz didn't accept any of the bribes; her father had long since taught her how to tell when someone was trying to curry her favor. She learned from the various chess matches they've played together, the business meetings he's taken her to, anything at all, how to tell who was a friend, who was an enemy. She learned how to avoid all the pitfalls of society, how careful you had to be with an image she managed to forge for herself. Yes, he would be there to support the girl, but in the end, it was all up to Jazz, to make sure that she didn't betray the expectations everyone wanted from her.

Everyday, she'd always get phone calls, some from admirers from far away, others from important people, really important people she didn't know the names too. She utilized the lessons her father taught her, and separated who was useful, who wasn't. She kept the names in her mind, in case she needed them again. This one could help her find her family. This other one had the resources to fund a search party. This one might be able to help get her father to relax. She separated them, and then she'd look up at the high cielings, and sigh.

There was still no word on her family.

After months of throwing herself into her father's society, she would still find herself scanning the crowds, trying to find even the slightest glimpse of familiarity. She wanted to picture her parents there, in the audience, waving at her enthusiastically from beyond the shadows. She wanted to imagine little Danny stumbling on the stairs, as he ran up to greet his equally tear-faced sister. And each and every time she did, she could feel her face fall. Father told her not to give up, but it was easier said than done.

* * *

One day, she decided she was going to go back to Amity Park. For some strange reason, it took months just to pinpoint the town, even more so, because it wasn't even on the map anymore. Still, Jazz never bothered with the details. As Jasmine Masters, she had the authority to go anywhere as she pleased, provided she had permission from her father. And, just as she expected, he too, wanted to leave. So he called the company and took a few days off from it. The two packed their bags, went to the nearest airport, and flew over to the town.

Jazz couldn't even begin to describe the anticipation she felt. She kept imagining her parents kind faces in her mind, their smiles instantly brightening her day. She kept shaping and reshaping Danny in her mind, though that curious gleam would never leave his eyes. What'd they look like now? It'd been almost six years after all; Mom and Dad were probably all old and gray. Danny might be taller than she was, though of course, he was still just two years younger than she was. She stole a look at her father, and he smiled back; he was just as nervous as she.

When the plane landed, she couldn't stop herself from springing up from her seat. She grabbed their bags, as well as her father's hand, and burst out of the private jet. She kept looking around and around, the unfamiliar sights pushing against her mind. She looked up at her father, who was patiently waiting for the limousine to drive up to them. When the car finally stopped, Jazz took both their bags, slammed them into the limousine, and pushed her father inside. She'd already relayed to the driver over and over again the address they were supposed to go to.

It won't be long now, before she finally got to see them again. She was so excited she kept bouncing up and down in her seat, an enthusiastic smile plastered on her face. From the corner of her eyes, she could make out her father's anxious expression. She couldn't help but laugh then.

She knew why he was so nervous. And the answer would be no; though she loved her family, she was still going to live with her father. It's just that now, she has two really great ones. She even held his hand, reassuring him that everything was going to be fine, that in the end, she'll be Jasmine Masters, though she preferred he call her "Jazz" from now on.

She couldn't wait to introduce her father to Danny, but he probably knows her parents. It'd be just like a family reunion! This was too good to be true!

She was so wrapped up in her excitement, that she never noticed how quiet the town was. She never noticed how there were so very few people wandering about. She never noticed the inhabitants peering out toward her, with curiosity on their faces. She never noticed how cautious her father seemed, the very frown on his face telling him that something wasn't right. She never noticed how deserted everything was, compared to the vibrancy of her childhood she enjoyed so much. She never noticed the rundown buildings, nor did she take in the silhouettes, fleeing from the sounds of the car.

So it came as a complete shock to her, when she saw her former home.

* * *

There was yellow tape surrounding the red building. All the windows were shattered, and the overgrown weeds distorted the once clean pavement. Blue spray paint coated the door, covered in gibberish she couldn't possibly hope to understand. The large, _Fenton Works_ sign had long since been taken down, and when she walked toward the building, remnants of fluorescent bulbs crunched beneath her feet. If she squinted, she could see tiny cobwebs floating in the distance, with small mice swarming everywhere. From what it looked like, no one had lived there in years.

Father didn't say anything, and neither did she.

Still, Jazz took a deep breath, straightened herself. She quietly came toward the yellow police tape, and crept up to the doorstep, with her father following closely behind. She was just about to creak open the door, when he pushed her back protectively. In that same moment, the door opened, the dust and dirt falling over on their faces. After a few seconds of hesitation, Jazz nudged her father in the door, the same way he had when he first adopted her.

She clutched his arm, as she looked around the barren room.

Where were they?

Where was everything?

The furniture?

The TV?

The bookshelf?

Everything?

"Mom?" she heard herself ask. "Dad?"

Slowly, she let go of her father, who was still shocked beyond belief. She never bothered reading his expression, as she kept going, her little body shifting through the darkness. She caught sight of a few cigarette buds here and there, a few strands of torn paper here and there. She narrowed her eyes, as she crept up the staircase, the forlorn light giving way to the dust dancing around her.

"Danny?" she mumbled.

"What happened here?" she could hear her father mutter to himself. He looked up at Jazz, as if expecting her to answer his question, to help him get through the befuddling mystery. She could only brush him aside, her throat thick with pain, as she continued on her way. She finally came to the upstairs, where she peered through the bedroom doors.

Empty, just like all the other rooms.

Slowly, she turned away. She descended down the stairwell, and surveyed the musty surroundings. She bit her lip, and walked over to a large, iron doorway. She paused for a brief moment, then, in a single second, she started down the lab, the fondness of her own memories swirling around her. She remembered how Danny and she raced down the stairs, trying to get to their parents. Danny kept smashing his fingertips on the railings, railings that Jazz couldn't help but linger on. She gripped the metal tightly, then made her way downstairs.

Her footsteps descended down the stairwell. When she came down, her hand fumbled for the light switch. From the moment she turned it on, she froze.

Red.

And black.

And white.

And green.

She felt herself double over.

Her world suddenly caved in around her, the shadows of her own, saccharine past clawing at her chest. She clutched her heart, her knees giving way to the weight of her own ignorance. She could feel tears streaming down her cheeks. She could feel all the breath in her body slam out, her lungs desperately trying to retrieve some back. She could feel herself falling to the cold ground, palms against the ground, as she endeavored getting a hold of herself. She could feel her father's arms surrounding her, trying to calm her down.

No.

 _No_.

They'd come back for her.

Father said they would.

She clutched her mouth with both hands.

She was going to throw up.

And suddenly, she heard something.

Shakily, she stood. She looked out at the lab, at the overturned equipment, at the empty syringes, at the broken beakers. There was a large table, towards the back of the room, that was lying on its side. It was silver, with rust covering the corners. She could make out the slightest traces of two, innocent shadows, shivering in the corner. She felt herself move, one step at a time. She could feel her father's eyes bore her back, following her gaze to the destination she was coming towards table.

He stood. "Jasmine, wait-!"

Carefully, she laid her hands on the edge of the table, and peeked behind it.

There were two children.

A boy and a girl. The boy was unconscious, passed out in the girl's arms. The girl scowled, her feral eyes frightened at Jazz's sudden appearance. They both had dark, raven hair, and though Jazz couldn't see through the boy, she was shocked by the girl's pure, amethyst eyes. They were both pale, both emaciated, both covered in what appeared to be tattered, white hospital gowns. Their dirt-ridden faces gave little way to the horror on the faces.

She couldn't remember what the girl was saying to her.

She only kept her eyes trained on the boy, who had just woken up from his sleep.

The first thing Jazz saw, was his clear, cerulean eyes.


	8. Chapter 6

The first thing she saw, when her father helped carry those children out of the building, were bruises.

And scars.

Very horrific scars.

Those scars adorned their battered bodies, messily covered with painful stitches she could only flinch at. Their faces were a mix of yellow and purple, the shadows beneath their eyes a testament to how long they've stayed up at night, looking out for one another, trying to, at the very least, stay calm. Their hospital gowns did little to cover their burn marks, and when she saw their thin legs, she could clearly see jagged remains of skin sticking to the soles of their feet. Tiny ribs protruded out from their skin, and when they placed them in the car gently, she couldn't help but realize how light the two of them were.

She didn't listen to anything her father said after that, nor did she bother with those troublesome questions of what'd happened to her childhood home. But it was only then did she begin to take in the shattered existence that was once known as Amity Park.

She could remember screaming.

And shouting.

Mom and Dad, both desperately trying to get her to safety.

Memories upon memories came piling in, one after the other; walking up the front stairs and coming in, only to find another one of Dad's inventions gone awry; walking out of that house, with a book in both hands, a stubborn frown on her face; waking up in the morning, eating breakfast there, in that simplistic, comforting kitchen, relieved that there weren't any zombie sausages she was going to have to fight off; spending a countless number of sleepless nights there, up in her room, trying to find something, anything, to refrain herself from dealing with her parents' crazy antics. She didn't particularly know what she was feeling, during that time; a cold, unfamiliar numbness spread throughout her body, though in the end, she managed to suppress it, they dying light casting a dark shadow over her sorrowful face.

Jazz couldn't help but turn to her father then, who was still standing there, arms to his side. Though his back was turned to her, she could easily make out the disbelieving shock clouding his mind, his confusion obviously surrounding his frame. Jazz regarded him for the longest time, before finally, turning to that old building. Sadness spread from her heart, as she slowly crept beside him, the fragments of the afternoon's enthusiasm already disappearing from her. She closed her eyes; she couldn't take it anymore. Instead, she looked up at her father, and regretted it.

He wasn't moving, wasn't saying anything. Millions of emotions clouded his mind, his own silence still screaming out for her parents. If she squinted, she could make out the forlorn wrinkles embedded on his face, the tension draped around him nostalgically. As seconds passed before them, an eternity passing through the two, he continued on with his watching, as if waiting for someone, anyone, to come surprise him, forcing him into believing that this was all some bad joke. He waiting, just like Jazz, for her parents to come popping out of somewhere. He was waiting for them, for their teasing playfulness, for their laughter at the two's reactions, though at this point, the girl doubted that'd happen now.

It was all gone, from the moment she tugged at her father's sleeve.

He looked down, and found her standing there, right next to him, with those same, empty eyes she didn't think would come back.

"Come on," she found herself whispering. "There's no one here."

And with that, she and her father left, with those two, unconscious children in tow.

* * *

When they came back to the castle, her father had to hurry to the company. Jazz asked him not to tell anyone about their conditions, save for the few employees Jazz had only started to feel comfortable around. At first, he disagreed, saying that those children needed to be in a hospital somewhere; for all they knew, they could be dying.

However, Jazz continued to argue with him, the alarm bells ringing in her head. She knew full well what would happen should they call the hospital for them; not only would it bring unwarranted attention, but it'd call to question the children's origins, what exactly had happened to Amity Park. Though it'd be nice, to get all the information they could, at the same time, Jazz didn't want to take the risk. She didn't want reporters probing those children, nor did she want social services to show up and whisk them away, the boy especially. She wanted to hold onto them, if only for a bit more, believing fully that she could take care of them. After hours of screaming and shouting, her father gave in, much to her relief. He left them in Jazz's care, and since then, had been waiting patiently for either one of them to wake up.

For the next few weeks, Jazz spent time tending to the children. She asked some of the housekeepers to help set up two of the guest rooms, so at the very least, they'd have a bed to sleep in. All the workers had been sworn to secrecy, and should they ever tell anyone, her father would destroy them. They all agreed wholeheartedly, but not because of her father's threat, but rather, because they were just as curious as the Masters. Who were these children? What were they doing on the streets, all alone? Where were their parents? They've asked Jazz these questions time and time again, but she never answered them; she merely smiled, and remained silent.

The girl long since stripped them of their hospital gowns, and placed them both in one of her father's old college sweaters. She cleaned their wounds, and checked on them every hour, making sure they were alright, that they were still breathing. Her father popped in once in a while, if only to see if their conditions were improving, if they'd waken up yet. Yes, vital signs were normal. They were breathing. Sometimes, her father's private doctor would come and check up on them, but other than that, that was all the medical attention they would receive. Though her father was uncomfortable with the idea, Jazz reassured him that everything would be fine. "At least they aren't brain-dead," was what she remembered telling him.

All the while, the wealthy aristocrats surrounding the family, as well as her father's closest business associates, could tell something was wrong with the small family. A couple of times, Jazz found them at the doorstep, with polite smiles on their faces, as they asked if they could come in. Sometimes, it'd just be one or two, while other times, hordes. They all had the same suspicious grins on their faces, as they pondered on what the family had done. Rumors upon rumors kept circulating around Jazz's back, and though she's managed to dispel them every time, in the end, even they were starting to become a burden. She could recall going to the children's rooms more often than not, simply just staring at their peaceful faces, all the while asking herself when they were going to wake up, if they were even going to open their eyes.

She was just about to give up on them actually, though somehow, even then, they managed to surprise her.

She was sitting beside the boy's bed, with a small frown on her lips. The afternoon light gave way to the anxious lines on her face. She was looking down at her hands, her orange hair spilling from her head. She stole a look at the boy, before closing her eyes. She stood up, and was about to go to the girl, preparing her heart for yet another disappointing venture, when she heard a soft groan from behind.

She froze.

She spun back, and saw the boy, struggling to sit up.

Black bangs clung to his sticky skin. His cold, clammy face, scrunched up, as he endeavored to see through the sunlight pouring into the room. The bright green sweater hung from his thin frame, the bright acronym _UW_ reflecting back at her. Before long, his eyes widened, the surprise clearly overtaking his small frame. His tiny body tensed, as he surveyed his surroundings, a brief moment passing before he finally looked at Jazz, his piercing orbs easily cutting through Jazz's sympathy.

Jazz's breath stopped.

Not a single thought passed through her mind.

The next thing Jazz knew, she found herself taking a tiny step forward, doing whatever she could not to scare the boy. "Hi," she remembered saying, reaching out to him. She waited for the boy to respond. When he didn't, she simply continued, taking another step towards him. "Are you okay?"

His eyes fell away from her. He regarded the empty space in front of him, his tiny, emaciated body seemingly resigned to whatever fate was left for him. He didn't make any other movement than that.

Jazz's smile faded quickly. "Are you hungry?"

He didn't answer.

"Can I get you something?"

He simply shook his head.

"…Do you know where you are?"

He shrugged.

"Do you remember anything that happened-?"

A sharp, piercing scream erupted from the other guest room.

Jazz jumped. She spun around to the direction of the noise. She was just about to race out of the bedroom, when she saw a tiny, blurry shape speed past her. She stood there for a moment, still shocked by the moment, when she looked up at the corridor.

There he was, that little boy with tears streaming down his face.

* * *

Jazz stood there, leaning against the doorway with one hand, the other hand motionlessly hanging to her side. She watched them with expectant eyes, both sympathy and empathy tugging at her heart.

The girl kept trembling underneath her large, grey sweater, as the boy endeavored calming her down, whispering reassuring promises not even Jazz could understand. Fierce lights were embedded in their eyes, as they clutched each other. They held fast to the panic, not even bothering to ask themselves why they were here, what Jazz planned on doing to them. Mom's warning echoed through Jazz's mind, and moments later, Jazz walked toward them, a soft, concerned frown plastered on her lips. It worked apparently, because as soon as Jazz walked into the room, the girl's terror subsided, and she imitated the boy's emotionless disposition.

Jazz's lips parted slightly. The very same, odd colored eyes carefully regarded her, the curiosity long since faded from their visions. The girl looked back at her companion, who simply nodded.

Immediately, Jazz took a deep breath, as she walked up to them. She didn't know what to say to them. Having them wake up while she was there, and seeing them react the way they were now; it was all a bit…sudden.

They both tensed as she lingered near the bedside, the distrust immediately slamming down onto them. She gave them the same, timid smile, as she had with all the other socialites. No, that won't work again it seemed. "Are you okay?" she asked.

The girl stared dumbly at her.

"You're in my house."

Again, nothing.

"I ah…I hope you're feeling better."

The girl turned to the boy.

Jazz cleared her throat. She didn't want them to feel anymore uncomfortable than they already are, though it was a bit late for that now. And she had to try something. "Can…either of you tell me what'd happened?"

Simultaneously, they both looked away.

Jazz bit her lip; here goes nothing. "It's alright; you're safe now."

She heard a relieved sigh pass through the boy's lips. He turned to the girl, his soft whispers doing little to ease Jazz's suspicions. So she continued, playing off the life-saving assumption the boy had just given her. "Whatever happens, they aren't going to get you."

The boy turned to her unsurely. He started to open his mouth, only to be stopped by the girl, who eyed Jazz warily. He stared at her for a while, before fixing his gaze on the pure, white sheets, and clamping his mouth stubbornly shut.

She simply sighed, and leaned over. "Do you want anything to eat?"

They refused to answer. Even still, she could hear their stomachs growling, their avaricious eyes giving away their clumsy hunger. She smiled kindly, as she stood up. "Don't go anywhere, alright?" she asked, as she slowly backed away from them. "I'll be back with something."

She came out of the room, and closed the door. The chef must've already left, since it didn't take too long to make supper, so Jazz would just have to fix up a small something. She didn't want to give them too much; it was a sure fire way of making them sick. Her eyes nervously peered out the window, as she laughed to herself.

She just plucked them off the streets, with some monster after them, and now they were here, in the castle. Would this be considered kidnapping? She didn't think so, considering the fact that they were half-dead when she found them. So did she save them then? Probably not, since they weren't exactly thanking her for forcibly dragging them here to a shady looking castle in the middle of nowhere.

Did she know what she was getting herself into?

No.

Did she think it was worth it, at the time?

Even now, she hadn't the slightest idea.

* * *

When she came back, much to her surprise, they were still there. The same, cautious gaze entrenched in their eyes. But despite that, it seems their curiosity won out. They scooted closer to her, their noses sniffing the warm aroma diffusing through the room. When they saw two bowls of porridge in her hands, their faces brightened. Again, their stomachs growled, and Jazz fought back an amused chuckle. Carefully, she positioned herself toward the side of the bed, and placed the bowls carefully on their laps, the long, silver spoons placed delicately on top of the rims.

When they looked up, their hardened scowls were replaced with pleading frowns. She nodded, as pulled up a chair, and watched as they grabbed their spoons and shoved the morsels in their mouths, not caring if the heat seared their tongues. In that same moment, the porridge disappeared before her very eyes, the sole contents of those tiny bowls giving way to emptiness. How long had it been since they've eaten anything?

The two looked up instantly, silently asking for more.

Jazz gave them a sad smile. "You might get sick, if you eat too much." After seeing their falling faces, she quickly added, "But there'll be more tonight."

Her heart melted when she saw their toothy grins. As she got up to leave, from the corner of her eyes, she could see them staring at her once again, the mistrust slowly fading from their eyes.

Later that night, as Jazz promised, they ate more. No, they were still a little wary of her, but at the very least, they were being more receptive. But even that faded from her mind, when Jazz noticed how they tore through each of their plates, their eyes flowing with hunger. As the meal continued, however, they started slowing down, savoring the taste, their senses slowly cultivating themselves into what appeared to be a resemblance of normality. Before long, they reluctantly stopped, no doubt content with their meals.

Jazz remembered looking at them then, knowing full well she was just bribing them into telling her what happened. "So," she said, causing them to jolt, "are you both full?"

The boy nodded.

"Was it good?"

Again, he nodded.

She smiled, laying both her hands on the table. "Would you mind telling me your names?"

Shyly, he slid his gaze over to the young girl, whose half-hearted scowl slowly vanished from her face. Jazz could see how much the girl wanted to run and hide, or at the very least, crawl beneath the table and wait until Jazz had somehow disappeared from existence. After a few minutes of quiet, the girl peeked out from under her bangs, a tiny little blush across her cheeks. "Sam," she whispered, in a small, squeaky voice.

The boy stared her for the longest time. He turned back then, and showed the same hesitation. "Danny."

Danny.

He said his name was Danny.

Melancholy spilled over her. Her stubborn belief rose from inside her chest, the overwhelming prospect that, at the very least, her little brother was here, right in front of her. Still here, still alive, just like Father promised he would be. After all, who else would be there, in that old, childhood home? Who else would bother coming back, aside from him?

And yet, despite that, doubt arose from inside.

Jazz nodded thoughtfully. She leaned over, and placed her chin on her hands. "Do you like it here?"

They both nodded. They then turned to stare at their plates, their hard gazes seemingly penetrating the expensive china. Even from here, Jazz could see their thin faces, their cheekbones sharply protruding from their expressions, the sharp gleam in their eyes as they continued to observe the grand dining room. They've eaten so much today, perhaps more than they could've possibly handled. Their tiny faces were starting to get a little green, but nonetheless, she could see the contentment surrounding their fragile frames.

Jazz stole a glance at the clock. Her father shouldn't be back for another hour. And speaking of parents; she turned back to the children, who were both now whispering to each other, the suspicion embedded in their voices.

She closed her eyes; they were running from someone, no doubt. She found those children in her old home, clearly distraught by whatever was chasing them. They were beaten badly, and though many of the bruises have faded, the scars still remained. The girl almost seemed ready to rip Jazz's face off, while the boy was struggling to stay conscious.

A soft, quiet breath escaped their faces. Their eyes, so devoid of the emotion she'd come to cherish, their tiny, heaving chests, trying to determine whether or not they should even trust her, their tiny hands rubbing their bellies, clearly not used to ingesting that much food, and after all this time; in a way, they reminded Jazz of herself, back when she was still residing in the orphanage.

"Then you can both stay here."

Danny's eyes carried a hopeful, somewhat pitiful gleam. "R-really?"

"For as long as you want."

"Why should we believe you?" Sam suddenly spat.

Jazz almost flinched at the cautiousness in the young girl's voice; she could practically see Sam eyeing the door already, determined to drag both she and Danny out of the castle.

Still, Jazz kept calm, and regarded her with the same, polite smile. "Because I fed you, clothed you, am still protecting you from whoever's after you-"

"What's the catch?"

Much to their utter surprise, Jazz simply smiled. "There is none."


	9. Chapter 7

Jazz will never forget her father's reaction, when she told him she wanted him to adopt those two, precious souls.

Of course, her father was a bit wary. He still thought they should tell someone about them, get them to some hospital, make sure they're alright through the words of experts rather than an overprotective teenage girl. Who knows? Perhaps their parents were looking for them, and if they were, it wasn't right for Jazz to swipe those children from beneath their noses. And though Danny seemed similar to her little brother, in every possible way, he himself hadn't seen the boy, her father doubted he would recognize him now. In fact the last time the man saw the two siblings were when they were still infants, and it was through a bunch of blurry photos Dad kept sending him.

Still, Jazz wasn't going to be deterred. And so, after she drilled into him over and over again how they needed a place to stay, that their parents, like her own, were missing, that someone was after them, that getting anyone else involved in this would not only be a waste of time, but may also endanger the Masters family name (he didn't really care about that), Father finally gave into her demands. Just like that, Danny and Sam became apart of the family.

It wasn't anything like what'd happened with Jazz. The children and her father were a bit wary of one another, with Jazz being the only common ground between the three. Whenever all four were together, Danny and Sam would usually look at Jazz, as if expecting her to take care of the introductions, the formalities, all the troubles that came with maintaining a conversation. There were times when her father was at a loss for words, as they only ever responded either "yes", or "no." They weren't very cooperative either, considering how they would always stay in their rooms all the time, only ever bothering to come out for meals.

But despite that, Jazz was determined to make them feel welcome. She followed her father's example, and kept knocking on their door. She made every attempt possible to try and draw them out, from bribing them with bowls of porridge, to dropping video games at their doorstep, with a trail of candy that led to the game room. She didn't care if she seemed a bit annoying, or even motherly; she simply wanted them to come out, to enjoy whatever joys the castle had to offer.

And over time, they did. As they grew more trusting of Jazz, slowly, but surely, they'd crawl out of their rooms. At first, it was only for the occasional snack, or to spend the afternoon in the courtyards, simply walking around the various plants and trees. A few weeks later, she started seeing them in the library and the movie theater; finally, she caught sight of them in the dining room, talking amongst themselves while watching the housekeeps do their work. It only ever became livelier after that. Whenever she was in her room, either catching up with more homework the tutor had so brutally given her, or in the library, getting ready for the next charity party, she'd always hear their tiny footsteps overhead, their giggles practically following them down the corridors. She would often close her eyes, and listen to that laugher. Then she'd smile, before screaming, "Keep it down!"

For Jazz time slipped carelessly between her fingers. Her father came to care for them, perhaps even more so than Jazz. She couldn't even remember the last time she saw him smile like that, the brilliance of his immaturity coming out. Now, whenever she found the three, there was none of the tension they carried from before. Sometimes, they'd play video games, while other times, simply sitting down at the kitchen table, glaring at the chessboard, locked in some mental warfare Jazz didn't want any part of. And even still, just talking, though it was more on her father lecturing them on the various pranks they've committed against the various housekeepers and chefs. But even after he's scolded them, Jazz could see the mirthful youth embedded in his eyes.

Gradually, Jazz and her adopted siblings grew closer as well. Whenever Danny and Sam fought with one another, or if they wanted to rally their sister to try and overrule the curfew tyranny, Jazz was always be there, trying to sort things out, or at the very least, calm them down. Those two kept coming to her with the tiniest of predicaments, whether it be the fact that one had cheated the other in chess, or that Sam had punched Danny again (he had to get stitches the last time), or that the two children refused to listen to their father, if only for a day, in the end, it was all in good fun.

There were times when Jazz needed to see her father, regarding those two. More often than not it was merely out of boredom. When such boredoms arose, Jazz would usually take the limo and get herself, Sam, and Danny to Vlad Incorporations. She would then set herself and her siblings patiently on a bench somewhere, waiting for the time to pass until her father was finally on his break. The employees were all really nice to her, it wasn't like she was doing anything wrong. She even brought enough money, just in case they got hungry. And as she did, she memorized the layouts of the cityscape, the towering buildings, the restaurants, everything; she even managed to find a restaurant, not far from the company building, the Nasty Burger, people called it. She'd make sure to take Danny and Sam there everyday, knowing full well people were too busy with their own lives to see who exactly was ordering.

Just a year after Danny and Sam came to them, Father decided they needed a private tutor. Initially, Jazz was a little worried; those two have spent so much time just goofing off, that she hadn't even realized she needed to see what grade level they were in.

That first day, when the tutor came to test them, Jazz remembered standing outside, in the hallway. She was wringing her hands painfully, as she waited for the strict tutor to come out and harp at them for getting yet another problem wrong. She's already researched him, and to be perfectly honest, she didn't like him. He was always so strict, for one reason or another. There were a couple of allegations that he was a bit abusive towards his students, but both professors and parents worshipped him, simply because of the high test scores he produced. When he came to the castle, Father was already out, leaving Jazz to deal with the man. Personally, Jazz didn't want him, considering how he was already talking about raises and paid vacations, despite the fact he hadn't even done one ounce of work.

She was starting to get anxious. Her eyes flickered towards the door, the faint sounds of pencils rolling away on the desk surfaces, along with irritated gibberish she couldn't make out. Jazz was just about to go in, when the door instantly opened. She saw Danny and Sam walking out, chatting excitedly about the new game they'd be receiving soon. They both saw her, gave her warm smiles, then continued with their conversations, without a single air of terror shrouded around them. Jazz looked back into the library, and saw the tutor there, stunned beyond belief. Jazz decided to oversee their studies after that.

But even with all their smarts, they were children, in Jazz's eyes, her baby brother and sister.

Even now, she still thought back to that day, when she found them there, inside that abandoned building. She couldn't help but ponder on where they came from, where they thought they were going.

Whenever she tried bringing up the subject, however, the children would simply shut down. They wouldn't say anything to her a few days after, and it was only until she made countless bribes did they finally speak with her again, albeit on more icier terms.

* * *

Kids grow.

And that was the painful truth.

Jazz had forgotten what day it was, when Danny told her he was interested in finance. She'd forgotten what day when, in the next two minutes, she saw someone screaming at the castle door, and in moments later, Sam came stumbling into her arms, a stream of curse words following behind her. She'd forgotten what day it was, when she saw how angry that woman was, how smug Sam seemed, as she looked up at Jazz, and told her that she was taking that woman to court, that no one, absolutely _no one,_ stole from the Masters. She'd forgotten how smug Danny seemed, though when Jazz turned questioningly toward her brother, he looked down sheepishly, even if he couldn't hide his wide grin.

She knew it was on a bright, sunny day, in the afternoon. She was preparing a presentation on the effects of racism on health. In three weeks, she was supposed to present her findings at a conference in Atlanta, Georgia; they already paid for her flight and accommodations, and if she managed to impress them, some university in the UK would give her a stipend to go anywhere she wanted to conduct her research, assuming that the panel approved her destination. She remembered taking a deep breath, as she was memorizing her speech, all the while reminding herself that she didn't have much time left. Danny appeared out of nowhere, and told her his interests. Then, after a while, she remembered coming to the door, with Sam slamming into her arms, with a pale, obese woman screeching at the top of her lungs. It wasn't long before she turned toward the two, and scrutinized them both.

Danny was still a little shorter than she was, but he was healthy, nonetheless. His shaggy, raven hair refused to be kept down, his bangs hanging all over his soothing blue eyes. He was wearing a black hoodie, with dark blue jeans, with his bare feet rubbing against the soft, pristine carpet. Sam, on the other hand, wore in a simple, black, minidress. She was wearing a black black choker Father had gotten her for Christmas, her dark, ebony hair complimenting the piece carefully. Her amethyst eyes matched Danny's in intensity, as she looked up at Jazz, with an arrogant smile on her face, though not too arrogant.

Jazz remembered sighing, as she tore her eyes away from the presentation She was almost done anyways, and since Father should be on his break, Jazz figured she could just drop in, and tell him about what'd happened. Besides, he's been asking about them lately, though mainly because of a chess match Danny had thoroughly destroyed him in. And with the way Jazz saw it, Danny and Sam would make their public debut anyways; might as well give the socialites a sneak peak at the newest additions to the family, right?

That public debut, however, might just have already happened.

Jazz called up the limo driver, and told them to get dressed. They did, and three siblings got in the car, and drove away from the castle.

Jazz remembered looking up at them, with an incredulous look on her face. After a while, she folded her arms in front of her chest.

Neither of them would look at her, though she could still see the small smirk they had on their faces. When Jazz looked out the window, she could see that woman still standing there, at the castle door, screaming at them with both fists raised in the air. Finally, she turned back.

"What'd you do?" she finally asked.

Sam merely shrugged. "She had it coming."

Jazz narrowed her eyes. "Sam…"

"What? She did. And it's not like she could keep it a secret forever."

"We talked about this."

"Just because they're rich, doesn't mean they get to do whatever they want," Sam stated simply.

Jazz rubbed her temples. "Just answer the question," she ordered exasperatedly.

Unfortunately, Sam did. "So you know that lady who showed up at the door. Ms…Aileen, I think?"

Jazz blinked. That's right; just the other day, Sam was complaining about her. Apparently, the woman had been "abusing" her pets, though to Jazz, Ms. Aileen seemed like a nice enough lady. But being the radical Sam was, she followed the woman into her house, and allegedly found dog fighting ring there, in a grand basement not too far from the surface. It was hard to believe, and Jazz didn't want to know where this was going. But for some reason, she rolled her hands, cueing Sam to continue.

Sam nodded. "I've got evidence against her for it. She'll be going to trial this Friday."

Jazz stared dumbly at her.

Sam shrugged. "What?"

"So let me get this straight; you were breaking and entering, and you weren't even _arrested?"_

Sam scoffed. "No way. I just took photos of that stupid ring. Showed them around, and what'd you know? Next day, police have a warrant to search the place, and they found it."

"You tipped them off?"

"You know it."

She sighed again. She stared at her sister pointedly; though she could understand where Sam was coming from, she didn't think _ruining_ the woman's life was the best way to go about it. Usually, when a socialite was caught, not only by their fellow circle, but by the entire public, it meant everything they do will come into close scrutiny. The way they spent their money, how they've portrayed themselves, what celebrities they worked with, their general attitude; everything. The insults would come every day, their property would be vandalized, fake emails and phone calls would come from every hour, demanding that they pay debts they never even realized they'd gotten themselves into, mostly because they were too busy spending their own money for the luxuries they couldn't even afford; Jazz should know. She'd seen it happen many times over.

However, it wasn't until after this conversation did she realize that something was off.

The little story Sam told her made no sense. For one thing, Ms. Aileen had the best security system in the world. And while she utterly despised Sam, simply because of how outspoken she was, she adored Danny, who was charismatic enough to win her over. As far as Jazz was concerned, even if they didn't agree with the curfew, she'd seen the two around the castle, making sure neither of them snuck out. There was no possible way Sam could sneak out and do something on her own, at least, not without Jazz knowing.

Jazz slowly turned to her brother. "Danny…"

"I had nothing to do with it."

"…You're a horrible liar, you know that?"

* * *

No matter what she did, or what angle she used to perceive them, Danny and Sam were always a bit odd.

Jazz noticed how often the two were always together. Even after Father called them his own, after they've finally found a permanent home in the Masters castle, still, for some strange reason, they kept up with their seemingly private world, a world not even Jazz was entitled to look at. After all this time, Jazz would've thought they were closer than that. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't disappointed, but then of course, they were teenagers, and everyone had their own secrets.

After a month following the incident, Daniel and Samantha Masters made their official debut. They were both fiercely independent, so much so neither Jazz nor Father needed to do anything for them. Danny made his, merely by investing in favorable trades through Father's company. Sam, on the other hand, was already the target of many angry socialites; she appeared on television first, if only to champion animal rights and the like. They weren't sociable, like Jazz or Vlad Masters, but all the same, they were exceptional by their own right.

Neither one of the teens enjoyed the cameras. In fact, they did whatever they could to hide from them. Though they were successful most of the time, it still didn't stop anyone from calling the castle, trying to get a hold of them. Jazz kept their public appearances to a minimum, kept where they were going hidden, made sure they weren't drawing attention too much themselves, though sometimes, even her efforts weren't enough. Well, with the rebellious new look Sam sported, and with the fact that Danny was at Vlad Incorporations every day, busying himself with the economy and the like, it was hard not to keep them out of every rumor circle. Jazz had lost count of how many times she's had to defend them, all the while pondering on whether or not she had any right. They were still as much a mystery to her as the day they first came to the castle.

Still, Jazz managed to ignore the rumors, and instead, busied herself with keeping her family out of trouble. She brushed aside how the aristocrats were falling out of the Masters influential circle, one by one, how fearful whispers kept circulating around her every time she passed by them, no doubt from another one of Danny or Sam's antics. She ignored the vague mentions of illegal activities swarming around the two teens, how Jazz was just a cover for them, how they were going to get rid of anyone standing in their way, how they wouldn't stand for it if they lost. Though she tried keeping the teens busy, the two still found the time to cause trouble, everywhere they went, found time to cultivate the family image into something that was both beloved, and feared.

But even if they were closer to each other than they were to either she or Father, they were still family. Sam would steal Jazz's hair dryer in the morning, dye her clothes black, call up every boy in the nation and tell them that Jasmine Masters was interested in them; her pranks were merciless. Danny didn't do that; he was too busy trying to reel Sam in, all the while apologizing to Jazz about the pranks she knew he was involved in. He had to, else Father would lose his mind, worrying about the three, as he dealt with more and more complaint stemming from the teens. Yes, Jazz got them back; one time, she stole one of Danny's boxers, and stuck it on the flagpole during one of her charity parties. No one saw it, much to her disappointment, but it made Danny wary of her; she was an opponent not to be messed with.

Though the situations were bizarre, Jazz admitted that it was fun, nonetheless. She was happy, just sitting around a table, or on the floor, or anywhere, for the matter, as long as those three were nearby. Her adopted father would be sitting to her side, and Danny and Sam would be across from her. They'd joke around a lot of the time, not even bothering to hide their snickers as Jazz chided them all for being so childish.

She thought to herself one day that she'd protect this tiny world of hers. No, it wasn't as grand a kingdom as the one her parents had before. She wasn't a princess, though she lived in a castle, nor was she the queen, even when her family's influence was felt internationally. She wasn't strong, nor did she consider herself to be incredibly intelligent. In fact, to Jazz, she was average.

Still, she was going to protect them, no matter what'd happened.

It's probably the reason why she felt like she failed them now.

* * *

As she stared out at the raging oceans, the dim, dark horizon now coming away from her, she could see the very glimpses of night over the red seas. Black waters floated beneath her, the tense silence now shrouding her with pain and loss. From up above, she could catch sight of a dim, callous moon, the ghostly light now settling above a mass of stars clearly etched out for everyone to see. Jazz stared up at them, brushing aside the worried whispers, the anxious gasps, as fleets of ships came away from the harbors.

They were all waiting, it seems.

Waiting for what the siblings were going to do next.

Jazz tightened her grip on the rail, as she closed her eyes.

Father must still be back on the mainland, trying to find Danny and Sam. Meanwhile, she was out here, dealing with reporters and socialites and concerned citizens and the like, all of whom were still asking themselves the same, pointless question. That reporter was trying to get everyone back, screaming desperately that there must've been a reason why they were doing this, why they were so willing to throw everything away, just for that one, single chance of doing the morbidly extraordinary.

And so, she merely recalled the events of the day.

The men in white, who had come barging.

Men in white, who made her parents disappear before her very eyes, who somehow took her little brother away from her.

Men in white, who were here again, ready to take away yet another family she'd created, in this callous world of hers.

And she couldn't do anything.

Not a single thing.

She looked out at the skies again.

She wanted to see Mom and Dad there, one last time, their arms outstretched, their kind, gentle smiles, inviting her to join them. She wanted to see Danny there, her little brother, with his toys, attempting to clumsily asking Jazz to play with him. She wanted to see all the prejudices she's held against them, the compassionate prayers she's caressed for them, the desperate pleas she's made, asking if she could see them again, if she could find them once more, if she could meet, even if it was only once, even if her heart had to break under the pressure of it.

But she couldn't.

Because they were missing.

And she couldn't find them.


	10. Crimson

She saw him standing there, arms outstretched, the desperation clinging to his face. He was screaming something at them, though she didn't know what. Sounds of the GIW's helicopters were overhead, the roaring winds decimating every sound in sight. From the corner of her eyes, she could see them readying their guns. A warning shot, then another, then another, then one more…

She looked at him, with a sad smile on her face.

Dad paused for a moment, the sounds still reverberating through his skull. Before she knew it, he was behind them, trying to call the GIW off. He can convince them; they were only children, after all. But more importantly, they were _his_ children, and he wasn't about to let them slip through his fingers.

He wanted them to give him more time, apparently.

No, she didn't necessarily want anymore time. If anything, she was running out of it. How ironic, to think that she could still laugh, even when she was cornered. She knew, because when she looked at Danny, it seemed he was laughing too.

She could feel her own core burning her flesh from the inside out. She could see herself degrading, her own, chaotic thoughts spinning out of control. Her own, primal instincts screamed at her to run, to slaughter everyone in sight, to annihilate the nightmarish seams that forced her into the hell called isolation. Her vision kept getting blurry, with the solace of her mind now crashing above her. Bloody spots kept appearing and disappearing, but she simply brushed them aside, as she walked to Danny's side. At the very least, she was here, the world looking on them, just before she left for good.

The dimly lit moonlight glared down at her. Though that same, burning sun was up there, in the heavens, she could see that moon, see the countless number of stars peering down at her. Shimmering, in their tiny, isolated lachrymose, she watched their meticulous forms, tracing the boundary where day and night met, her eyes taking in the solitude before coming back to reality.

She remembered how pretty they looked before, beneath that crimson, bloody sky.


	11. Chapter 8

Though she might not've remembered much from it, that old life was still incredibly precious to her. No matter how distant, or how foolish, or how regretful she lived it, the girl couldn't shake it from her mind. A wonderful, pure blessing, which had been stolen away from her all too soon; nowadays, it was all she could ever think about.

It was ironic.

Especially at a time like this.

* * *

Samantha, or rather, Sam was a precocious young girl. According to her parents, she was always a little unique, always different from all the other kids. Yes, she was dressed just like them, and whenever the adults were around, she was usually quiet; even if she strayed far from their sight, catching a glimpse of her newfound freedom, for some reason, she'd come right back, with an odd, all-knowing smile on her face. Her amethyst eyes seemed to take in the world around her, dissecting all the little details until some peculiar thought came into her mind. Of course, Sam refused to share it with anyone; she wanted to expand the idea, but she promised herself she'd share those thoughts later. Perhaps that was it; maybe that's why people kept giving her those strange looks, as she relayed to them even stranger smiles.

But she knew that wasn't all. Though she was so young, she was fiercely independent, something her mother had sorrowfully noted; it didn't look like she needed anyone's help. She was also incredibly smart; she knew which places were safe, which were dangerous, which foods to avoid eating, much to her father's relief. The startling fact was how she could tell who her parents should trust, who they shouldn't, especially in regards to their fortune, but then again, children were good judges of character. And yet somehow, their parents kept her close, simply because of the sheer amount of enemies the Mansons have made over the last couple of years; of course, it wasn't like Sam knew that then. But she'd always laugh at the notion now, remembering how scared they were whenever she talked about growing up.

It's true that Sam had been brought up by wealth and luxury, but she was never really into all that. Somehow, she convinced her parents to let her go to a public school, rather than the boarding school they happily picked out for her. They never pushed her to go anywhere she didn't want to, except when her mother was alone and she needed her daughter to kill the time, but they've always reminded Sam of her roots, of where she came from, and why it was important to remind people of her power, all the good she could do with it. Their lessons even extended to the few friends Sam had, and how to use her enormous wealth to control them. However, she told them she didn't need those lessons when dealing with them; she knew they'd stay by her side, until the bitter end. She knew, because she'd do the same for them.

There was Tucker Foley, a scrawny, African American boy who had an obsessive love for technology. Sam usually would always tease him about it, going so far as to kidnap any device dangling from his hands, whether that be his game-boy, or a newly acquired PDA, or simply a phone he created by himself, and making his run for it. Of course, days later, she'd find one of her books missing, and she'd go out looking for him, only to find the object slipping at his fingertips, a haughty smile grazing his face. He also loved meat; if Sam hadn't known about his technology fetish, she would've considered meat to be his true love. But nonetheless, he was kind, considerate; he'd keep most of her secrets, and though he can be a bit annoying, Sam couldn't imagine how hard her short life would be without him.

The other friend, was Danny Fenton. Like her, he had dark, raven hair, with bright, cerulean eyes, eyes that always managed to strike up a conversation between she and Tucker. Somehow, he was always the common ground between both Sam and Tucker. Back then, he was quiet, shy, and only when he was around his friends did he become extremely animated. The fact that his parents were ghost hunters aroused Sam's curiosity, but she never really bothered asking him about it. He always liked looking up at the stars, and would manage to get the two to pin him in one of his stargazing escapades. He once even told them that he didn't care what he did when he grew up, so long as he continued looking at those stars. It was a simple wish, but all the same, Sam remembered it.

Usually, whenever he or Tucker were in trouble, whether it be with the teachers, or those stupid bullies from school, it'd be Sam that'd get them out. Admittedly, her ways did involve going to many parent teacher conferences, along with the constant lectures about how her escapades were going to get her into serious trouble one day. But Sam was fine with it, much to the confusion of every adult she'd come across; in her mind, that's what friends did for each other. She'd be lying though, if she said wasn't the least bit 'd lost count of how many times Danny had apologized to her over and over again, trying to assume the bigger role since he had a bit of a hero-complex. Or how Tucker would keep following her around, with a sad, puppy dog face, his own apologies slamming themselves against Sam's brain. Even so, Sam was grateful.

That thankfulness stemmed to all aspects of her small, somehow fragile world. She had a nice, stable home to go to, even if she and her parents were at odds with one another most of the time, had wonderful friends, had a school to go to, had the smarts to excel in every subject. Somehow, she never attracted any attention, considering her independence and uniqueness. Then of course, she might as well have been blessed with that too; she never enjoyed being in the spotlight.

She remembered an one, strange time, a moment that was kept between she and her parents. She was around five, when she told her mother she wanted to travel around the world. She'd just finished watching an episode of Sesame Street, and remarked how dull it was. Her mother ruffled her ebony hair, before lamenting on the fact that it'd be too soon for her to grow up, that she wanted some more time to cuddle with her "Sammy-kins" before she finally left for adulthood. Her father desired the same wish. "Don't leave us yet," was what she remembered him saying.

Sam merely shrugged them off, and continued on with her everyday life. She didn't dare bring up the subject again, else they'd get all emotional and stuff.

After that moment, things fell into place. She'd find Danny and Tucker waiting for her on the sidewalk, backpacks in hand. She'd rush to them, and they'd strolling to school, going on and on about whatever homework assignment was supposedly due, how they could go about the day avoiding everyone who hated them, what kinds of things would await them in that little prison known as Casper Elementary School.

But overall, Sam was relatively happy with her humble life.

It was all she could ever ask for.

* * *

They came on a snowy day.

Sam was in school, listening to the teacher drone on and on about her no-good, filthy ex-boyfriend. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Danny, trying to write down everything she was saying, apparently not understanding that none of this would be on the test. From behind, she could make out Tucker's incessant playing, the tiny sounds from his gameboy barely reaching her ears. She stared at him for a while, before looking out at what the other students were doing.

Dash was bugging some other students. Paulina was whispering to Star. There was a new kid, just outside, in the hallway. She overheard some of the teachers talking about a tiny boy named Kwan, who was, just like Danny, shy and timid.

She was leaning back in her seat, and looking down at her doodles. She was thinking dreadfully upon a wedding her mother was going to take her to. From the looks of things, neither of the two wanted to go, but unfortunately, the Mansons needed to keep up with appearances. At the very least, the reception will take place in some Chinese restaurant outside of town, so that was always a plus. She was just about to close her eyes, and put her head down, when suddenly, she heard a crash.

She looked up.

There were four men, bursting at the seams. Four men, wearing white suits, with guns in their hands.

She remembered the windows breaking after that, as more of those men poured into the room. She remembered those gruff, commanding voices, screeching at everyone to get in the corner and not make a single sound. She remembered grabbing Danny, who was still trying to memorize the ex-boyfriend notes, and Tucker, who was complaining about losing another life, and shoving them behind her, a fierce protective light entwined in her eyes. She remembered the teacher demanding to know what was going on, before her crumpled, broken body fell to the floor.

She remembered being forced out of the classroom, forced to follow the monotonous sounds of her classmate's footsteps. She remembered looking out at the high cielings of her school, as those giant men swarmed the balconies, swarmed the offices, making every other adult fall to the ground, just like her teacher had. She remembered looking at the other kids again, with Danny's and Tucker's hand in hers.

Dash had his eyes fixated on the ground. Paulina was crying. Star kept looking around. And even that new kid, Kwan, could barely move, rotating between whimpering and trembling.

She heard a sob escape from Danny's lips.

She could feel Tucker leaning against both her and Danny, as if trying to hide from those men.

Those men led all the children into white vans parked outside. They kept prodding her classmates with guns, ordering them to get inside, else they'd shot. There were, of course, a few students, who remained defiant, with Sam being one of them. Yes, their nerves were all badly shaken, but even still, they kept up with their stubborn beliefs; go into that car, and you really will be dead. Better to stand here, and try to buy some time, just until the police, or the teachers, or anyone at all, could get there.

Sam heard those sickening shots yet again.

She saw her fellow classmates falling to the ground, their bodies coloring the snow red.

She looked out the windows, as the vans were driving away. She heard her classmates crying, their whimpers earning them a resounding scream from the men. She saw Danny there, his head nestled along Sam's arm, as he fearfully looked out at the others. Tucker was trying to look up something on his PDA, though his frustrations kept biting him; no signal. Sam bit her lip, before shaking her head. There was nothing anyone could do now, except to sit back, and wait.

She didn't remember who exactly had died that day. A couple of strangers, from a math class she's always hated? A passerby, who was kind enough to share their notes with her? She did see their faces time and time again, but as of that point, none of it seemed important. Still, it felt right, to mourn for them, at the very least. After all, she knew that she'd never see them again.

She saw those white man surrounding the town.

People were running away.

People were screaming for help.

There was a lot of smoke, that came in from behind. Smashed windows, fallen glass, with a few insults here and there.

And then finally, she saw her own family. Her mother was reaching out to her, crying out her familiar nickname. Her father was shielding grandma from the men, all the while looking at his daughter.

She saw Danny's parents too. It looked like they were fighting those men. Why was father running? What about Mr. Fenton? What about grandma? No, they were coming back. They were shouting something, but Sam couldn't tell what.

The next thing she knew, they were all lying on the ground, the terror still embedded in their eyes.

* * *

Author's Note

-Children are incredibly perceptive. Most adults dismiss their gibberish as ramblings, but who knows? Perhaps that gibberish could mean something to those adults.


	12. Chapter 9

Sam could never really forget the first night they spent with the bad men.

They shoved the children out into the cold, wintry night, the darkness surrounding them providing little comfort to their nerves. The cruel howl echoed throughout Sam's ears, the blinding winds whipping the black strands of her hair back and forth, back and forth. She still had Danny and Tucker beside her, their own tiny warmths slowly dissipating from her. The others were huddled against one another, the ice lodged deep in their bones. Sam could only take one look at them, before turning her attention to a large, gray building, with burning fluorescent lights shining down on them.

It was big, that building. The lines were blurry, a menacing silhouette draped carelessly across the edifice. The big, glass windows reflected the shadows inside, and Sam couldn't help but stare up at them, her own, weary face bombarding her mind.

Even though it was cold, everyone knew to stay away from that building. However, it didn't seem the men particular cared for their preferences. They grabbed their shoulders, the threatening atmosphere still around them, and shoved her classmates towards the door. A few were whimpering, but in the end, they still obeyed.

Total darkness covered Sam, as she followed the sounds of the men's footsteps. They were walking down stairs, from what she could tell. She gripped the kid in front of her, trying not to lose her step; from behind, Danny and Tucker grabbed her shoulder, with the same idea in mind. She remembered how badly it smelled, that stairwell, and however frustrating it may have seemed, Sam was glad she couldn't see anything.

The men took the children to jail cells. They unlocked the doors, and reluctantly, the children came inside, Sam included. When they shut the door, the girl only had to look down to see the sorry state of the cell; rats were scurrying here and there, trying to hide from their unannounced intruders. A slimy black thing coated the walls, the cold brick entwined effortlessly with rusted metal. Putrid puddles covered the corner of the walls, and Sam's nose wrinkled; she knew better than to go to those puddles.

They stuck all the girls in one cell, the guys in the other. Paulina and Star were whimpering to each other, as was the other girls. Sam could only stare down at it, before turning to the men, who were already locking the cages on their doors. Sam pressed her tiny hand against the railing, and looked up at them. They simply ignored her, and went to check on the boys, who were all crying loudly, screaming for someone, anyone, to come in and save them. Sam pressed her forehead against the rail, closed her eyes, and listened to their pleas, her own voice matching so very well with theirs.

Hours later Sam was sitting on the cold, iron floor. The small of her back leaned against the wall, her arms folded neatly over her legs. She remembered looking up, the sounds of heavy footsteps marching down the corridors. When she peered through her bangs, she saw two of the bad men marching towards her, with two of her classmates in hand. No, she didn't recognize them, but nonetheless, she pressed her face against the bars, trying to get a better look at them.

They were small, just like her. They had hopeful, scared smiles plastered on their faces. They kept chattering to each other excitedly about something, though Sam didn't know what. She stared at the men, the very shock that they were actually smiling eluding her. She saw how happy they were, those men, as they answered any questions these children might have, like what they did, why they were doing it, if they had any children too.

It didn't make any sense, at least to Sam, anyways. She remembered asking herself why those kids were so happy, especially at a time like this, when they were stranded here. She was about to wake up the other girls, wondering if the same men told them the same thing they told the other children. She turned around, and reached for a girl's shoulder, when she heard a door creak open. She blinked, before turning back again.

She squinted her eyes, as both the men and the children rounded the corner. She could feel the brisk air attack her skin, the unfriendly warmth eagerly showing itself off in front of her. Somehow, she managed to ignore it, as she kept gazing at the children. The door closed, and then she stood. She never noticed that door there before; perhaps because it was so dark. She was about to ponder on the fact, when she froze.

Terrified, piercing screams resounded through the air.

Sam jumped back from the bars, as she listened to those cries. Cold, horrified, the touch of macabre embedded in their tones; she could hear them begging over and over to stop. Jolts of bright light kept jumping out at the girls, and as the seconds went by, their pleas diminished gradually, succumbing to the effects of that light. She could hear them call out names, names of people she'd rather not meet, names that she might as well have had ingrained into her mind, that night.

By then, all the girls were awake. Her classmates shuffled to the farthest corner of the room, not caring if they stepped in urine. Their fears decimated them from the inside out. Sam could only turn around and stare at them, still not comprehending the scene she'd just witnessed.

Just then, she saw the men again.

And rather than two children, two bloody corpses were dragged across the floor.

* * *

The bad men came for them the next morning.

Sam knew, because she heard those familiar footsteps pounding against the ground.

They slammed the cage doors open, and yanked the girls by their hair. The bad men dragged them for a few minutes, their scrawny legs stumbling after them. Before long, she heard the boys' voices, and with that, the men let go of the girls, and allowed them all to huddle together.

The bad men told them to follow them, and obediently, they did so. Their elongated shadows served to frighten Sam more, but nonetheless, she kept her composure, erasing any shock of what'd happen. Her clothes were sticking to her skin, the cold sweat coming down her forehead. She calmly followed the men, not even bothering to indulge her fears at that point.

They took the children downstairs, the darkness illuminating the tension the atmosphere managed to create. It was damp, and if she was quiet, she could hear the water dripping slowly from somewhere, probably from a few broken pipelines. After what seemed like an eternity of walking, they came to a very big room. Sam stumbled in, only to find herself mesmerized by the golden, faint lights flickering above.

The tiles, like the walls, were eroding away, with small black spots splattered everywhere. The large, glass windows gave way to an ominous snowy morning, not a speck of sunlight present within the morbid clouds. It wasn't long before she heard a loud, haunting screech, the outside world suddenly sealed away by large, metal doors. She stared at the contraptions for a while, the foreboding thoughts swirling around her. It was then she caught sight of a large, iron balcony, just below those windows. Sam squinted, only to find a man there, glaring down at him with icy orbs.

Like all the others, he wore his white suit, his perfectly pristine face carefully surveying the children. It wasn't long before he turned to his agents did even hint of curiosity spark in Sam. But it was brief, because no sooner had she come in did she finally see Danny and Tucker, both of which seemed just as tired as she.

It was so quiet, that room. She recalled how unbearably silent everyone was, their once rebellious attitudes quelled by the horrific mysteries surrounding them. No dared ask about the children last night. When the men came up to question them, they simply turned their gazes elsewhere, their empty faces subtly apologizing for any trouble they caused. The children all clung to themselves, as they patently waited for the bad men to begin their reign.

The man on the balcony came in front of them. He called himself something, but it was too confusing. In fact, it was so difficult she'd erased it from her mind completely. But what she can remember was how mean his voice sounded, with the way he greeted everyone, the way he kept on his eerie facade, so much so Sam could feel her shoulder blades tense. Still, she did manage to catch sight of the words he spouted from his lips, the arrogance spilling into the room.

"You are all special," he told them.

And then she heard someone scream.

She saw Dash lying on the floor, cradling his leg, with dark blood spilling gracefully to the floor.

"You are all heroes."

Another scream, this time from Mikey. His oversized glasses came tumbling to the floor. A sickening crack resonated from within the room. His wide, glassy eyes stared up at the ceiling, his jaw hanging open.

"You are all warriors."

Sam saw Paulina being dragged out from the crowds. A bad man held a fistful of her hair; his friend was coming towards her, a knife in hand.

Tears spilled from the young girl's eyes, as she clawed at the man's hands, all the while demanding that she be let go. She could barely open her eyes, as she reached out for someone, for anyone, to come save her from the monster she knew was towering just a few centimeters away from her.

She and Sam's eyes met, at that very instant.

"You are the future."

Sam found herself returning her gaze evenly. Something told Sam to move, a voice that sounded so frighteningly familiar to her own. Slowly, she reached out for Paulina, if only to grab her fingertips and yank her away from the man. She could almost picture the tiny Latina stumbling into her arms, with Sam shoving her behind her back. She could imagine her scowling up at the bad men, returning to her old, heroic self, with rage consuming her tiny, fragile body. She could almost see herself giving Paulina a tiny, reassuring smile, telling her that everything was going to be alright, that there was no need for her to cry anymore.

But she only heard a simplistic, haunting screech, escape the tiny girl's throat.

"And we will not tolerate disobedience."

* * *

They grouped everyone according to what their families did, what their parents were into.

Sam remembered being lined up with all the rest of the children. After the questions were done, she was given an ID tag, marked with a number the bad men would use to call on them. For Sam, she was 409. She remembered briefly meeting with her friends after that, and learned their own numbers; for Danny, it was 157, and for Tucker, 207.

They switched out their normal clothes for white, hospital gowns. The bad men came to inspect them, and made sure the ID tags were tightly wound against their throats. Then they were escorted back to their cells, where they would wait for the next set of directions.

Sam had no idea how long she there, in her cell. She remembered watching all the other children drift quietly back into their cells, their ID tags dangling from their necks. There were times when they tried striking up a conversation with her, but of course, even that proved of little use. Sam wasn't really talkative anyway, and as of that point, the only words she even bothered saying was, "It'll be okay," and "Someone will find us." Her favorite line was "They'll pay," and though the other children nodded happily at the notion, in the end, even they knew the men never would.

There were times when she kept drifting in and out of consciousness. Sometimes, she'd dream of darkness, while other times, of waking up in her bed, with her mother shoving yet another frilly dress in her face. More often than not, she found herself reaching out for a familiar figure, the names of her beloved family escaping her own lips, only to be disappointed each and every time. She would have her forehead resting on her arms, her knees curled against her chest. If she was awake, and if she had the energy to look up, it was only to see if everyone was alright. Then she'd go back to sleep, and ignore her grumbling stomach.

It was forever, until finally, the bad men came flooding into the hallways.

Sam remembered weakly looking at them, unable to fight down a relief sigh. They kept rattling the bars, shouting for the children to get up. And they did, to some extent. At the very least, some of them, anyways. The rest, Sam figured, were either still sleeping, or hastily wiping away their tears, before they ended up like their friends.

Sam remembered struggling to stand. She remembered leaning against the wall, her blurry vision giving way to the vertigo surrounding her skull. She bit her lip, as she tried holding herself steady, using the bars of the cage for support. She looked down at the rest of her cellmates, all of whom were still lying there, on the floor. Her eyes have yet to adjust to the darkness; she spent a majority of the time sleeping, after all.

"Hey," she whispered, surprised at her own voice. She paused for a moment, if only to take in the sound, before she slowly came toward them, her bony hands reaching out for their shoulders. Her stomach growled loudly in her ears, and thirst dug its way into her throat. Nonetheless, Sam somehow managed to find the strength to crouch down, and try to shake them awake. "Wake up," she croaked.

The blonde said nothing.

"GET. THE FUCK. UP!" she heard the bad man shout.

Sam's eyes widened in fear. She quickly knelt down, ignoring the painful noise that reverberated from her knee. Star she realized; it was Star lying there. "Come on Star," she mumbled. "We have to go!"

Nothing.

She gritted her teeth. She could make out the shadows of the men nearby. And they had flashlights too!

She stared apprehensively at that light, a sense of dread filling her tiny body. She turned back to the girls. "C'mon guys, this isn't funny! We have to go or-!"

"Or what, little one?"

Sam froze.

She found them standing there, with those same, prideful smirks on their face. The blinding light caused her yelp, her eyes scorched at the seams. And yet, despite that, she could still make out traces of herself, the light slowly fading from her eyes.

Her hospital gown revealed traces of bruises from when the bad men grabbed her. She could see her own ribs from behind the fabric, her protruding belly growling loudly at the seams. Long, dark hair touched her skin, the shaggy remains of dirt now entwined within the once rich, ebony color. Her bony fingers kept clinging the hem of her gown, as her wide, amethyst eyes took in the transformation. How'd this happen? was what she asked herself, at that moment. When did this happen?

But alas, her brain snapped back to attention. Sam turned back to Star again, not even hesitating as she rolled the girl over.

The first thing Sam saw were tiny little scabs on her fingers. Her eyes traced her hands, making out the worms hooked into her palms, with tiny little bite marks to help them with there journey through the newly discovered corpse. Her clothes were ragged, and from the corner of her eyes, she even saw the rats, slowly making their way towards the blonde. She never bothered looking at Star's protruding ribs, her ruptured stomach cruelly bouncing up and down, tempting those rats to come and digest their meal. Sam was about to bat them away, when the light shinned down on all her other cellmates.

They were all lying there.

Maggots eating out their eyes.

Dried tears giving way to bloody cascades.

The desperation still embodied in their faces.

Sam covered her mouth to keep herself from screaming. She could feel tears streaming down her eyes, the nightmarish scenes shrouding the now fading sanity she had in her brain. She was still sitting there, trembling, even as the men all walked in, even when she could feel the hem of their shoes nudge her behind.

"Look at that," one of the men whispered. "It looks like they couldn't handle it."

"No, this one did."

"Well, this one tried eating herself," another men stated, as he walked into the cell, a disgusted smile entwined on his lips. He crouched down, and turned up Star's hand, revealing the maggots lodged there. He shouted in surprise, as he backed away, flicking whatever worms managed to jump onto him. "Hey, you know what this reminds me of?" he suddenly quipped.

"What?"

"That guy from that one video game. You know, the one with amnesia and the like?"

"…You mean Justine?"

Sam tuned out everything else they were saying. She could only stare at Star's face, her half-rotting face.

And just like that, she crawled up to her.

Star needed to wake up; if she didn't, the bad men will do the same thing to her as they did to Paulina.

She had to wake up.

She couldn't leave Sam here, all by herself.

The men shoved Sam up with her elbow.

The next thing she knew, the bad men were leading her out of the cell.

And then she saw Danny and Tucker, who were just as emaciated as she.

She remembered one of the men shoving her towards them, allowing her to stumble into their arms. She cried out in relief, their own, sickly warmths once again spilling into her own body. When she felt their hands reaching out for her, pulling her into the same, bone-crushing hug she once gave them, it seemed all was right with the world.

Sam closed her eyes, and allowed herself to sink into their arms.

Star was still alive.

And Paulina was too.

And Mikey.

And everyone else who died by the bad men's hands.

They lined all the children up, just like they had before. And they watched, as another group of students were executed.

They then took Sam and the others back to their cells, with the corpses still there, waiting to be eaten by opportunistic rodents, as well as delusions of the fact that somehow, someway, those corpses were still breathing, still alive.

* * *

Author's Note:

- _Justine_ , or rather, _Amnesia: Justine_ , is a side-story to the popular horror game, _Amnesia: The Dark Descent_. For anyone who's played it, i just wanted to let you all know that I feel incredibly sorry for Alois.


	13. Chapter 10

Sam didn't know how long she kept telling herself that they were only sleeping. She didn't know how long she kept watching them, with her wide, glassy eyes, hoping that, at the very least, they'd pop up and smile at her. She didn't know how long she stayed by their side, flicking away the maggots and the rats, not even bothering to move when she heard the bad men calling her number. She didn't know how long she kept ignoring those men, who wrote in their notepads on how fascinating she was, how undeniably stupid Sam would be in the end.

She didn't know when she finally gave up hope, that they were merely corpses, that Star had joined her friend in the dark.

And so, after that, she simply just sit there watching as their bodies kept getting smaller and smaller by the hour. Their bodies were the only means Sam could use to tell how much time had passed.

Because of that, Sam realized she could keep track of the minutes that slipped from her, her own body wasting away within the confines of that cramped, filthy cell. In it, she could feel herself slowly forgetting the outside world, and all the luxuries it could've afforded her. She could feel her memories disappearing, no matter how hard she tried holding onto them; the warm touches of sunlight, dancing to the sounds of some unknown melody, the laughter that preceded behind her, the gleeful jokes that were exchanged between her and the others, friend or not, Tucker's bad jokes, Danny's enthusiastic grin. To her, it seemed they were all but a distant fairytale from far, far away, a beloved diary entry thrown into the hell the bad men thrusted her into.

Now and again, she'd see some of those bad men wandering around the cells. She'd hear them complaining about the smell, before stopping in front of some of the bars. They'd stare inside the cell for a while, then they'd write something down and move on. They'd do the same thing every time they were down there. Sometimes, Sam would try to read what they were writing, if only to satisfy her morbid, haunting curiosity. Still, even that small comfort eluded her. So she could only sit there, in her boredom, and wait.

* * *

The "weaklings", as the bad men decided to call them, were brought into the execution room. Day after day, Sam would watch the bad men slaughter them.

And just like with Paulina, she failed to save them.

Dash died, not from another bullet, but rather, from the one the bad men hit him with before. It got infected, and he stopped breathing.

Kwan was the next to go; he couldn't handle not eating. So, like Star and all the others, he ate his own flesh and died.

Dale had to sit in the corner of the execution room, his bleeding lips strewn into a twisted, malevolent grin. The word "Hero" was carved into his forehead.

Daren was stranded in the middle of a blizzard, where he froze to death; the bad men found his body later, his fingers all black and blue.

Annie was hung, with her body dangling from the high cielings.

Johnny was eaten alive by rats and maggots.

Aileen was crushed.

Stephen was poisoned.

Sarah was electrocuted.

Lily died from thirst.

Nate was burned alive.

But Sam was still alive.

Sam, and Danny, and Tucker.

* * *

Over time, the number of children dwindled to, what the bad men called, "sustainable creatures." To Sam, it seemed they were ready to move on with their plan.

The bad men took them out of their cells. They crossed the corridors, from which the children were starved to death, past the execution room, where they saw so many of the friends die, and instead, they came to yet another set of stairs. No, not stairs; they passed those stairs, stairs leading down into that same, dank abyss. Rather, they went to an elevator, a large, steel elevator, that reminded Sam of the world she'd been stripped from. The men shoved the children in, punched the elevator buttons, and simply waited.

She could feel the machine draw them upward, the sudden surge of gravity enough to knock all the breath out of her body. Sam felt Danny's hand on her arm, trying to steady her the best he can, all the while staring worriedly at the walls of the elevator. Tucker's eyes bore her back, seemingly reminding himself of the very real reality that she could drop dead, and at any time. Nevertheless, she managed to give them a small, reassuring smile, the same smile she gave to everyone else, right before they disappeared.

When the doors slid open, Sam could only see pure, blinding white, all over.

It wasn't anything like the cells. There were no stains on the floors, no bodies they had to share their space with. There weren't any weird smells coating the atmosphere. Though the room was empty, if Sam looked up, she could see computer screens mounted onto the walls, with so many graphs and numbers and the like. It'd been so long since she saw stuff like that, so much so it made her head spin. She couldn't help but look toward her friends, who were just as mesmerized as she.

The things that caught her attention, however, were hallways. Two of them, placed on either side of her. Both were dark. Both were long.

The bad men led the children out of the elevators, all the while ordering them to line up. They were told to remove their hospital gowns, and obediently, they did, revealing only an emaciated mess of skin and bones, all of which were pathetically clinging to their bodies. The bad men whispered to each other for a little while. After that, they told the children that should they move from that single spot, they were going to shoot them. When they left, Sam, once again, turned to Danny and Tucker. Sam smiled at them once more, and though they smiled back, they couldn't think of anything to say.

When the bad men came back, Sam saw new identification tags dangling from their hands. The bad men ordered them to put on their hospital gowns, and they did. Then, in that same moment, one of those men came up to her, and yanked her old tag off. She bit down a painful screech, as they strangled her with another one, before shoving her away and moving on to the next child. Sam fell to the cold, hard ground, her eyes catching sight of her new identification tag.

Golden.

It was the first thing that stuck out to her.

It reminded her of all the bracelets and necklaces someone wore, a very special someone whom the little girl had forgotten. Her identification number was elegantly engrained on the surface; _UG_ flourished beneath it, along with a mysterious, red dot that seemed to hold all the answers in life. Sam cocked her head, but she brushed aside her confusion as she came to Danny and Tucker, who had suffered the same fate she had. Danny's had _JF_ beneath it, and with Tucker, _HRA._ Like Sam, had the same, red dot beneath the letters; Tucker didn't.

When they were done, the bad men started grouping the children by the tags they've give them. Red dots went with one man, and all the rest with the other. They were to leave with them, it seems; anyone who fell behind would get a bullet to the head. Sam remembered hurriedly joining Danny, remembered how odd it was, that they were the only ones in that group. The two of them looked anxiously towards Tucker, who imitated Sam's comforting grin, though fear was entrenched deeply in his eyes. Still, he waved, and with that, he turned his back, joined his group, and followed the bad man into that long, ebonic corridor.

The other bad man led Danny, Sam, and the others away from that room too. None of the children dared look away from the bad man, their footsteps resounding against their eardrums. But despite their fear, Sam still tried turning back around, Tucker's frame slowly fading from the distance. Danny did the same thing, though the moment he turned back, he spun around, afraid that the bad man would catch him. The steel walls slowly moved pass them, the cold, artificial breeze attacking through them so easily, reminding them both of their captivity.

The bad man showed them another room, a clean one, not like the one down below. Yes, it was still a cell, that much Sam could tell, but just like the room they were just in, it was somehow…more civil. Modern, sleek, _clean_ ; Sam almost found herself complimenting the prison, before stopping herself, and fixing her eyes to the ground.

There weren't any bars, but rather, a glass door that slid up when the bad man slid a card onto a tiny black thing mounted on the wall. The room was empty, aside from two wide benches that stuck out from the wall. When the door opened, the man shoved them forward, the glass door immediately closing just behind them. He stared at them for the longest time, utter disgust embedded in his expression, before finally, he turned away, and left them alone.

She didn't know how long she and Danny sat there, opposite of each other, staring at each other with empty, desperate eyes. She wanted to say something, but her voice was lodged inside her throat.

And suddenly, Danny was crying.

His sobs reverberated throughout the cell. His fragile frame kept shaking at the seams, as his tiny arms wrapped around his stomach. His raven hair clung to his skin, his shaggy bangs hiding away his eyes. His hospital gown hung loosely from his body, though as of this point, it didn't do either of them much good, aside from hiding those age-old scars. He turned away from her, his grimy face marred by tears and the like.

He hated it.

He hated _them_.

And _she_ hated them too.

But in the end, Sam could only reach out to him, and grab hold of his own hand. Slowly, she came towards him, her soft apologies making their way to his ears. Almost instantaneously, his forehead fell to her shoulder. His sobbing grew, his muffled cries silently passing through both of them. She felt his scrawny hands wrap around her waist, as he sat there, his hot tears scorching her skin. Sam sat there, and closed her eyes.

And they waited.

* * *

The experiments started the day after they came.

Sam remembered the dread she felt when the bad men came. The glass door slowly slid open, and one of them stepped in. "JF," he said.

Before long, Danny shakily stood up, and came toward the man. The man grabbed Danny's hand, and stormed out, not caring if the boy tripped over himself. After that, Sam only sat there, staring emptily at the glass door. A few minutes later, another man came, grabbed her, and led her out, the same way they did with Danny.

Sam remembered struggling to keep up with the bad man's pace. From the corner of her eyes, Sam could make out tiny blurs of shapes from which they hurried down the corridors, the very same cells crossing her path. She saw the remaining children sitting there, in their cells, looking just as desolate as she and Danny before. She saw them, and when she tried reaching out to them, the bad man dragged her back to his side, a seething warning entwined in his lightless pupils.

The two came to a large room. There was a large, steel table in the middle of the room, with giant, brown things dangling from the edge. When she walked closer, she made out the hazy silhouette of a heart monitor, sitting blatantly in front of the table. She passed through the many tools as they came there; scalpels, needles, pills with really big syringes attached to them. When she looked up, she saw more bad men surrounding the table, with greedy smiles on their faces.

At that moment, she started struggling.

She fought hard, as hard as her little body would allow. She kept clawing agains the bad man's grip, kept twisting and turning, if only to hear that sickening crack radiating throughout the room. Even when her arm fell limp, with only her subtle whimpers, her pleas of them begging her not to put her on that dissection table falling silent. She felt them hoisting her up, restraining her kicking legs with their own arms. She kept writhing, even after they strapped her in. Her strength was failing, the dizziness beginning to decimate her mind.

She saw this before.

 _She saw it._

She saw it when their teacher showed the entire class once how to dissect a dead frog. She saw it when her grandma showed her videos, of how to cut open a body. She saw it with Danny's parents, and how they kept gutting out pieces and pieces of green stuff. She saw it on Tucker's computer, a testament to how he kept showing her all the grotesque scenes in a new game he was playing, if only to try and scare her into submission.

She saw it over and over again.

And then she screamed.

To this day, she could remember the excruciating pain she felt, during that time, the humiliation that shattered the remainders of her forced humility. The shock coursed through her body, the gleeful, insidious light destroying every cell within her. She could feel her heart rapidly speeding up, trying to accommodate for the blood pouring from her fingertips. Bile rose in her throat, with bits of saliva dripping through her bleeding lips. Her body involuntarily began convulsing, with strips of burning flesh reaching her nostrils. She breathed heavily, trying to regain all the breath she lost from her body, only to be greeted with the same, tainted scent she'd grown too familiar with. When the shock stopped, she felt her body collapsing to the table, her limbs writhing in utter pain. Almost immediately after, the shocks began again.

With each new shock, there was relief. Sam didn't know when it was until she started losing sense of the pain. She didn't know when it was until her body stopped convulsing, or when the bad men kept whispering to each other, asking themselves if she proved to be another failure, if they were going to have to toss her out, just like the rest. She didn't know when the shocks stopped, nor did she know when the bad men unlocked her, and carried her back to her cell.

The only thing she knew was when she'd woken up again, with Danny by her side, with new bruises covering his skin.

* * *

How long has it been, since Sam started receiving those shocks? How long did she have to suffer through the pain, only to wake up in her cell, with Danny carefully hovering around her? How long did she put up with those bright, burning lights, the bad men repeating to her their disappointment, the lingering threat that they could just as easily dispose of her as everyone else bombarding in her mind?

Over time, however, the shocks grew less painful. It'd gotten to the point where Sam go into that room, without the apprehension attacking her. She'd be strapped down to the table, and they'd administer their shocks. Once or twice, the bad men would ask her something, trying to make small talk. Of course, Sam knew what they were doing, and she ignored them. After the treatments, she'd go back to the cell.

It wasn't long before Sam started noticing how empty the hallways were. The children in the surrounding cells were disappearing, one by one. Whenever either Danny or Sam kept walking toward their respective treatment rooms, they'd find more empty cells. The faces they've seen, the tired smiles they had on their faces, they were gone. It took a while, but soon, it was only just Danny and Sam, in their lonely, isolated cell.

It all started one day, when the bad men were busy with something. The children were sitting next to each other, as they always did, their backs against the walls. Danny's head was nestled on her shoulder, his tired cerulean eyes watching the bad men's elongated shadows pacing around the long hallway. Sam followed his orbs with her own, amethyst ones, her cheek dropping to his mangy hair. They were watching the bad men walking back and forth, the disgruntled frowns on their faces. Huh; it looks like another failure, at least in Sam's eyes.

"Sammy?" she heard Danny croak.

His icy breath trickled down her collarbone. She could feel his head nudge a bit closer to hers, relishing in any warmth she had left to give. Sam slid her gaze over to him, and gave him her signature smile. She turned back then, and continued staring at the bad men, at their own, pitiful reflections, at the now empty cell directly across from them. "Yeah?"

"No one's coming."

"Yeah. I guess they're giving us a break, huh?"

"Not that," he replied softly, as he sat himself up. His hand clutched hers, and for a single moment, he tightened his grip. He continued looking out at the cell in front of him, at the seemingly pointless endeavors the bad men were trying to fulfill.

"What'd you mean?"

"No one's coming for us."

She could feel the cold sweat freeze automatically, her smile instantly vanishing at the thought of those words. She couldn't bare to turn to Danny, couldn't even begin to comprehend the thought of looking at him. She could only stare at her own reflection, and just behind it, a couple of bad men, who were now slowly pacing in front of their cell.

It reminded her of that one time, when they decided to put a single sandwich, in the middle of the execution room. She, Danny, Tucker, and everyone else, had to circle around it; whoever got to it first got to eat. The trio didn't joined in, and thus, they were taken back to their cells.

Still, despite her abrupt absence, Sam could see the ravenous glares the bad men kept giving them. They were smiling, the coldness in their eyes embedded into her brain. Even as they were leaving that room, just from behind, she could see those children trampling all over each other, fighting just to get to that single, little sandwich. She could see red and black splattering everywhere, with the slightest traces of avaricious lust coating their once innocent expressions. She only learned that the victor had been killed from the other bad men. The rest were either escorted back to their cells, or simply disappeared, never to be seen again.

The situation was similar, to how the bad men were prowling around them now.

Sam could feel herself lean against her friend. Danny's tiny fingers began crushing hers, as he regarded the bad men evenly. And for a split second, she thought she saw his eyes flash a bright, toxic green, only for the same, icy blue graze his orbs.

She couldn't help but turn back. She squeezed his hand in return.

"You're right," she said finally. "There's no one left."

"I doubt anyone even knows where we are."

Sam closed her weary eyes, that reassuring smile falling from her lips. She breathed a sigh, but from what?

Relief?

Frustration?

Terror?

Content?

She'd been relaying to everyone for so long that someone will find them, that the bad men were going to pay not by their own hands, but by justice's. She kept up with her illusionistic facade, not even bothering to take a look at all the bodies that've fallen beneath her. It was a false world she crafted for her and her alone; by now, perhaps not even Danny could rely on its promises anymore.

And he was right, in her eyes.

They were on their own.


	14. Chapter 11

Sam didn't know what day it was when she first use her powers.

All she knew was how happy the bad men were around her, the polite demeanors now grazing the air, so much so it almost frightened her.

They beamed at her, complimented her, saying "Good girl, good girl," over and over again. All the while, they kept on looking at the tiny rose she managed to create with her equally tiny fingers, the blossom blooming beautifully by her own command. They all scrutinized it with the most careful of eyes, the disgust instantly vanishing from their features. That day, they didn't drag her back by the arm to her cell. They didn't hurl the same insults they usually did before, nor did they force upon her the same intimidation they gave the other failures. They simply looked at her, and smiled, their eyes darker than before.

The same thing happened to Danny. No sooner did she come into the cell did she find him carrying a few of the powers that were similar to hers; to be seen and not seen, to phase through the benches, to hear everything that was going on around their empty cells, from the quietest traces of tiny rats scurrying here and there, to the conversations the bad men kept having to themselves, commenting on the fact that, at the very least, they had a few warriors. No, they told him he was still developing, that invisibility and intangibility wasn't all he had to offer. Sam showed him what she could do, and he promised he'd do the same.

In the mornings, more often than not the two were put into hospital rooms, rather than the same torture chambers they kept seeing every day. Usually, they'd be strapped to the table, and they'd lie there, for hours on end, staring up at the ceiling, while the bad men ran their tests. They weren't allowed to eat or drink anything while they were hooked up to those machines. There were times when Sam visibly flinched at the site of those things, imagining the eerie sounds of exhilarating shocks bombarding her brain. Still, she managed to calm herself down, and allowed them to do their work.

An hour later, they would see each other, before going into separate, blank rooms. The bad men would tie a straight jacket onto Sam, restraining both her arms and legs so that she could "focus better." They'd have her sit in the middle of the room, take out a single plant and place it in front of her; they'd ask her to make it grow, and she did. Sometimes, they'd ask for a specific height, while other times, a width. They'd ask her if she could make it strong, make it weak, if she could talk to it? She merely nodded, not even bothering to understand the questions at this point.

Danny's his tests were different, from what Sam could remember; rather than plants, they'd tell him to focus what they called an "ice core." They'd ask him to freeze things, and he obeyed. Fire that green ray from the palm of his hands, try and scream, do anything he could to break away from that tiny, blue net they both hated. But in the end, it always came back to his ice powers, his freezing abilities. She knew they'd make him freeze something, every day, because whenever she touched him, he was cold. He kept saying he was fine, but Sam didn't believe him; in fact, for a while, she thought his powers were killing him.

But even with that suspicion, Sam knew that both she and Danny were treated better than the others. And while they knew what was happening, with the children, with their classmates, their former lives vanishing mysteriously into thin air, the two couldn't help but be grateful that, at the very least, they weren't swept away.

* * *

Eventually, the bad men allowed them to see Tucker again.

He wasn't as vivacious as he was before. When Sam came running toward him, arms wide, her lips unable to keep themselves from grinning, she could see him flinching, bracing himself for her infamous bear hugs. Though the same, amiable twinkle was highlighted in his eyes, when she wrapped her arms around him, she could feel the insides of his ribs. He was a lot thinner than she remembered, and when she looked up at his face, there were deep shadows beneath his eyes. His skin was deathly pale, his dried, with ugly bruises scattered all over his body. That old, wretched hospital gown was still clinging to his skin, the same one that everyone received when they first came here. His cloudy pupils were slowly eating away at his vision, and Sam couldn't help but grip his hands tightly. She was biting her lip hesitantly, as she looked down; he had powers too, didn't he? He was just having a little trouble with them is all.

Danny had come near as well, circling around him frantically, albeit relieved that their friend had made it through the experiments. From the corner of her eyes, she could see Danny with the same, anxious expression on his face, the very fact that his friend couldn't even remove himself from Sam's grip troubling him. And yet, all the same, he hugged Tucker too; it'd been ages since they saw their friend, after all.

Ever since that day, the two have been doing whatever they could to try and see Tucker. Whenever the experiments ended early, they'd request to see him. No, the bad men didn't like that, but as of that point, neither one was willing to take back their requests. For the first time in a long while, they didn't care what their punishment was, if they decided to see Tucker. They didn't care if they were subjected to more treatments, if they stopped washing their hospital gowns, if the bad men stopped treating them so nicely, and started starving them again, or even if they decided to lock them down below, with those decaying catacombs a few feet beneath. It didn't matter, as long as they got to see Tucker again.

Sam couldn't even begin to count the numerous amounts of hours they spent, sitting outside Tucker's cell, talking to him through a glass door. Almost always, it'd be all three of them, and though the bad men came with them, former traces of grim malice settling onto their features, none of the children paid any attention. They simply sat with each other, cross-legged, as they relayed to each other the events of the days. Tucker would make his bad jokes, his cheesy puns reaching their ears with annoying relief. Sometimes, their conversations involved the bad men, while other times, the latest treatments they were putting him through. Every time they came, Sam asked him if he was alright, and he would smile, telling them he was fine.

As time went on, somehow, Sam thought she could become content with her life. She thought she could salvage what she had, born from that sickening reality of hers. She wanted to keep clinging to Danny, who became a source of comfort for her during the experiments, and to Tucker, who carried some resemblance of a normal life. Go to the treatments, show them her growing power, eat, then go back and see Tucker; it was a routine she could live with. In fact, for a brief time, she wouldn't mind being stuck there forever; she already knew what the bad men had done to the rest of her classmates. She knew full well she couldn't do anything; they'd keep Tucker alive, so as long as she and Danny behaved. It was a precarious arrangement, but it worked, in her mind.

She was so enticed by that disillusioned promise, that she managed to fall back into her innocent world. All she could hear was Tucker's weak jokes from the other side. She and Danny kept trying to cheer him up, and though it worked for a split moment, he simply shrugged, and resigned himself to whatever fate was in store for him the next day. Then she and Danny would get up, and then they would leave, knowing full well they'd see him again tomorrow. Why shouldn't they believe it? Tucker did say, "See you later," and he was never one to lie.

The next day they saw him, his empty, soulless eyes stared up at the both of them, his skinny arms and legs nestled tightly against him.

Sam saw them dragging him down.

Back to the bodies.

Back to those weaklings.

* * *

What was it that shattered her lie?

What was it that stained white to red?

That tore apart the tense silence at the seams?

And surrounded her with countless bodies?

Was there something she could've done?

No, there wasn't.

After all, there was no one there anymore.

* * *

She could feel Danny frantically shaking her, screaming out her name. Warm tears marred his normally cold face, as he kept begging her not to leave him.

She couldn't do this to him.

She couldn't like their unfortunate classmates, who were too weak to survive, not like Tucker, who went back on his promises, and not their families, who abandoned their own children in favor of a kinder, more permanent fate.

"I love you," was what he whispered to her, on that morbid, crimson evening.


	15. Casualty

"Don't do it!" he heard him say.

Madness isolated him from the silence, the cold atmosphere slowly crashing down on the young boy. Ebony and crimson clouded the weariness upon his once innocent face, his own, callous eyes staring down not just at the man who raised him, but rather, at a world from which he couldn't even begin to understand.

He looked out at the nonexistent crowds ahead of him, his own judgement passing down on all of them.

He slowly stood from his beloved's body, her feeble corpse carrying whatever sickly warmth was left from so very long ago. Just moments before, she was there, standing beside him, with the same, determined look in her eyes. She wanted them to know.

She wanted them to _listen_.

A shattered heart, lying not too far ahead.

Along with clear, glistening tears, which cascaded down her beautiful, ivory cheeks.

Yes, just moments before.

He stared down at them. At his father, at his world, and even at his own arrogance.

He wanted to say his verdict.

He really did.


	16. Chapter 12

They were both staring out at the city, at the seemingly, lonely buildings so very far away, at the abandoned highways, which marked the end to an era they knew they could never even begin to grasp. Their legs were dangling over the edge of the building they were sitting upon, their shadows entwined within their somewhat miserable, but content existence. One was a boy, the other a girl, one with crystallite blue eyes, which imitated the endless obsidian matched above him, the other, a pure lilac, which cut away at the glamorous aura the city down below seemed to give. The boy was in a black hoodie, with heavy gray jeans strapped to his legs. The girl wore a maroon sweater, whose sleeves came all the way over her tiny, delicate hands. She had on black shorts for the evening, with a silver, skull chain dangling from the pockets. Their raven hair matched the darkness surrounding them, their bare feet caressed by gentle winds. Subtle smiles tugged at their lips, as they took in a scenery they'd long since lost themselves to.

Distant sounds of car honks reached their ears, the quiet, evening breeze subtly bringing them further and further away from the whims of the early morning. They could make out the remnants of carefree conversations, drifting softly within those golden, enchanted lights, the lampposts providing a joy for children to simply dance around. Colorful stores decorated every avenue, the sweet scents of food and perfume and cologne and whatever else was in the air, reaching their nostrils with perfect accuracy. A couple of minutes later, warmth permeated through the abnormally chilly breeze, with traces of humidity latching onto their skins. From up above, they could make out the barely lit stars, gazing out at them from behind a strange, quiet moon. All the same, they saw a tiny light from the horizon, a beautiful light that signified the end of another beautiful, hopeless dream.

"Sam," Danny called.

He could feel the stray strands of ebony hair barely stroking his skin, and along with it, loving fingers which caressed his cheek. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Sam staring out into the growing light, the resignation growing more and more evident upon her face. Soon, he found his hand entwined in hers. The two stared out at the world, and everything in it, or what seemed like it, anyways.

In all honesty, Danny couldn't tell how many people were actually down there. Sometimes, he'd look down, with blazing, green eyes, and quickly count how many people there were walking along the streets, before they could disappear inside the stores. Other times, he'd look through the buildings. He'd tell himself there were 1500 people (Dad's favorite number) in each building, which included employers, employees, visitors, and he'd count that way. He didn't know if it was a good estimate; the buildings, after all, were pretty high. He also didn't know how many officers were on each floor, but nonetheless, he knew they could hold at least 4 people at once. He should know; he's been inside them before.

"Bad idea," he heard Sam mutter.

She leaned in closer, her head gracelessly falling onto the crook of his neck. He couldn't help but smirk, as he wrapped a single arm around her. His eyes lingered on her for a while, before turning back up to the scene in front of them. "What was?" he asked.

"Staying up late like this," she replied. "You'd think for a day like this, we'd actually wise up and sleep for a little."

He shook his head. "It takes away the beauty of it."

"But even beauty is fleeting, isn't it?"

He closed his weary eyes then, allowing the revelation to ease his way into his mind. His cheek rested on her head, as he took in the sights. If he squinted, he could see the company building in the distance, imposing its terrifying presence on every other company around it. Just a few ways down from it however, was the Nasty Burger. It was crowded as usual, with disgruntled workers trying to get where they needed to go, busy office workers who were already in danger of being five minutes late. There were children there too, though their parents pulled them to the side, if only to avoid being trampled upon by the bustling onlookers. Stores and stores upon piles of stores here and there, surrounding the two buildings with the utmost disrespect; it was enough to make Danny turn away, and look out at the streets.

There were buses scampering here and there, endeavoring to take people to places they ended to go, though it seems traffic had other plans for them. For those fortunate enough to walk to work, they all did it briskly, with meaning, with purpose. But they kept bumping into each other, those people, and though the perpetrators managed a polite apology, they continued on their way, without even bothering to see who they said the apology to. Even now, it was still funny. Or at least, in Danny's eyes, anyways.

Moments later, his ghost sense went off, as did Sam's. But neither turned back, as the familiar presence carefully floated behind them. They never moved from their comfortable position, as they listened to the report their passive intruder was clearly ready to make. "Everything's ready," the ghost said, after the longest time.

Sam dragged her knees to her chest. "You're sure?" she asked.

"Yes," Skulker answered. "They're all in place."

"And the bloodstream nanobots?"

"Fully operational."

"Meaning you've already sent out the signal," Danny murmured quietly. He paused for a moment, recalling every meticulous detail made beforehand, every painstaking burden they've had to undergo to ensure that they'd make it this far. "Thank you for that."

He could hear the mechanical whirls surrounding the machine. He heard Skulker's eyes narrow, the ghost zone's greatest hunter taking a timid step forward. "I've also taken the liberty in contacting the GIW, concerning the files you've gathered. I've released the financial statements to them too. I'd say you have at least four hours, before they arrive to destroy you."

"More than enough time, then."

A tense silence settled between the three. Danny visibly relaxed when Sam squeezed his fingers. Reluctantly, she sat up. "You should leave, before anyone finds you," she advised. "It'd be bad for all of us if you were implicated too."

"This is foolish."

"So?"

Danny could feel Skulker's eyes boring his back, the growing light reflecting the metallic sheen visible from the corner of his eyes. "What do you hope to accomplish by this?" Skulker continued. "Power? Obedience? Even I know the humans would never allow you to do such a thing."

"The GIW will come after _us_ , right?"

Skulker was quiet for a moment. "Yes. Neither your sister nor your father will be blamed for any of this."

"What about their assets?"

"You've already checked last week; no one will be able to touch them."

Sam smiled. "And how about those morons? We've got them too, don't we?"

Danny flickered his eyes toward her. "The numbers might've been falsified, but Dad's enemies will be screwed over. And even if they aren't, their stocks will go down, as will their reputation." He steals a glance at the rising sun, the starlights beginning to quickly fade away. "After all, no respectable socialite would associate with a criminal. Publicly, anyways."

She raised an amused eyebrow. "So that's it then? We'll just let the police handle it?"

"The police, or the mayor, or the president. Either way, the results are the same."

"It's weird, just sitting on the sidelines like this."

"In a way."

Danny felt his pocket vibrate. He looked down, and took out his cellphone. Curiously Sam, leaned over, before she sighed and stood. Danny stared at the caller ID for a few moments, then stood up as well, the growing light revealing the dark shadows settling beneath his eyes. A tired, nostalgic smile came to his face then, as he allowed the phone to go to silent.

Dad was probably telling both he and Sam to come to the meeting today. Since the message took longer to record, Danny figured it was that during the beginning, the man scolding he and Sam again for skipping breakfast. Well, according to him, teenagers always overslept.

Danny stuffed it back into his pocket, and turned to Sam. "That's our cue."

"I'm guessing we'll be taking the limo there?"

"Only half-way. Who knows? We might just see Jeremy there again."

"All things considered, I think he might be the most-"

"Ghost child!"

Slowly, Danny turned to Skulker, his cerulean orbs taking in the confusion, the frustration, the anger, even the _anxiousness,_ permeating through the metal suite. It wasn't like Skulker to act this way, especially since Danny was paying him for his services. Still, to think that the two were capable of such acts might've been a bit incomprehensible to the hunter. So, Danny decided to humor his curiosity.

"No," he said.

Skulker blinked. "What?"

Danny smiled. "Only an idiot would go after power."

"Is it revenge then?" Skulker continued. "If it's on an entire organization, I don't see how-"

"I'm insulted."

"…What then?"

"I thought you were smarter than that," he said, as Sam drew towards him. Bright rings of light contrasted to the morning rays now rising from the buildings. It wasn't long before they both stepped off the building, the cool winds steadily blowing them away from the hunter. They merely floated there, in front of him, oblivious to the busy people down below, the horizon just up ahead. "If you'd like, come watch. You can even get a front row seat to the destruction we're about to cause."

Skulker opened his wings. "I don't make a habit of watching pointless massacres."

Danny shoved both his hands in his pockets. By now, Jazz was probably wondering where he and Sam were. It's not every day she got to stay home like that. Dad, in the meantime, probably overslept, and was now speedily driving to the company building; if that was the case, then he wouldn't have checked their rooms, to make sure he or Sam were still in bed. The housekeepers should be arriving any second now. The early birds would be buying their stocks, getting ready for today's trades.

There was a lawsuit Sam was supposed to attend today, but she first had to accompany Danny to that business meeting; apparently, the company scion has become quite smitten with her, and the tycoon won't even consider doing business with either Dad or Danny, not while Sam wasn't there, to witness his glorious, domineering arrogance. In the evening, Jeremy had plans to take them to a new theater, the one next to the oversized opera house. After that, they, along with Jazz, would surprise Dad with an oversized cake, signifying his 44th birthday, a date that the man himself had presumably forgotten.

How many hearts were going to be broken today?

He couldn't tell.

"If that's what you believe, then fine," Danny dismissed curtly. "The money's on my desk." He looked towards Sam, who merely turned her back toward Skulker. Carefully, she grabbed his fragile hand, as she had done many years before, and led him away from the cityscapes.

* * *

Author's Note:

-The conversation between Danny and Sam was a reference to the Affair of the Poisons, back in France. Before the French Revolution, there was a huge scandal that involved nearly all of King Louis X (?) nobles. Magic and satanism flourished everywhere; there were plots to bewitch aristocrats out of pure jealousy, potions concocted so that the king would fall in love with a desired woman, human sacrifices made to call upon the summonings of demons, ect. Priests and magicians were involved, and to be perfectly honest, it was hard to tell the difference between the two. The actions Danny and Sam took to protect Vlad was another reference to the period; people are always so shocked when they find out their favorite celebrities were involved in major scandals.

- _UG_ , _JF_ , and _HRA_ are acronyms I used for the identification tags. As you're all probably aware, _UG_ stands for Undergrowth, _JF_ for Jack Fenton, and _HRA_ for Hotep RA. The acronyms are used to describe the underlying cause of the children's transformation. For Sam and Tucker, it was through ghost DNA; for Danny, it was his father's machines that caused him to have ghost powers.


	17. Chapter 13

As the sleek, black limousine drove through the streets, the dark, tinted windows still giving way to two familiar silhouettes hidden behind the glass, Danny couldn't help but lean towards the door. If he squinted his eyes, he could make out the surprise etched onto their already shocked faces. Their lips kept frantically moving, all the while trying to get closer to the streets, if only to see the Masters children in all their glory. A few of the onlookers managed to turn away, and continue on with their day, but for the majority of others, they only kept staring. Already a few reporters arrived onto the scene, the crazed, frantic look in their eyes so visibly ostentatious as they tried grabbing the limelight first. Danny couldn't help but smile, as he settled back in his seat; it wasn't everyday they used the limo. If they were, it usually meant something big was going to happen, something the world thought deserved its attention.

"Skulker just left," he heard Sam say beside him. He blinked, before turning to her, an expectant frown plastered on her lips. She was wearing a long, black, strapless dress, along with a light gray, see-through shawl that gave people the impression of a hidden, somewhat archaic personality, one she was apparently too shy to share with people. However, the dark red rubies dangling from her throat testified her rebellious nature. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders, the stray strands tucked neatly behind her ears. If anything, her appearance reminded Danny of a dying black widow, dangling from her web, her starving fangs reaching out for a mere illusion of the dinner she failed to catch.

Danny shoved the thought in the very back of his mind, and stared ahead. "So I'm guessing he's not staying?"

"Guess not," she said quietly, as she snapped her phone shut.

He sighed, as he fixed the cuffs of his business suit. His messy black hair hung from his piercing eyes. Like Sam, he was dressed in all black, though an even darker shade of it fell beneath his stiff jacket. He refused to wear a tie today, considering how many times Jazz tried forcing it on him; just trying to convince himself to put on the suit alone was troubling enough. He didn't care how professional it made him; it was uncomfortable, and if it wasn't for Dad, he would've already burned all of it in the family fireplace. Sam felt the same way.

But for now, for today, they both decided dress appropriately.

It made them seem a lot older than they were.

Their eyes bored the drivers back. Even from here, Danny could see the thick glass wall between them and Mr. Monroe. Dad told him before that the glass was sound proof. He never really told Danny the story behind it, but when he asked Jazz, she merely laughed at the memory of it. It was so funny, in fact, that she was reduced to tears in two seconds, rolling on the floor, clutching her stomach, gasping for breath like some starved fish. Danny decided not to ask again after that. Sam wasn't really curious to begin with, so she simply ignored it, and relished in its benefits.

"Who do you think will ambush us?" Sam asked.

"Probably those two nitwits from before," Danny said quietly. "I didn't think they'd try to interrogate you."

"It's fine. What surprised me was the fact that your little friend got involved. If he hadn't been there, one of those men would've certainly wound up dead."

"Then we should probably thank Jeremy. If he hadn't arrived, and one of the GIW went missing in the building, Dad would've been suspected in all of this."

"…I know."

Danny smirked. "What is it?"

"What's what?"

"What's wrong?" he clarified, as he reached out and grabbed her hand. "It's not like you to bring him up like that."

She paused for a brief moment. Hesitation permeated from her delicate features, and it was then Danny narrowed his eyes. Before he could say anything, she looked up at him. "At this rate, he's just going to be as clueless as everyone else," Sam explained quietly. "No, I take that back; he'll be just like Dad and Jazz. He's going to be the one asking 'why', but he can't even touch the truth until we tell him personally. Either that, or the GIW gives it up."

"…Is it that important to you?"

"It's what we came here for, isn't it?" She brushed her lips on his fingertips. No one noticed, it seems, the dark windows giving them, at the very least, some privacy. "Then again, you always said you wanted to freeze time."

He laughed a bit. "I did, didn't I?"

"So what will we do then?" she asked. "If it's not Jeremy, then who?"

He simply smiled. "Sam, there's a reason why the bombs are in place."

"That's it then, huh?" She leaned back against her seat, staring up at the ceiling. "A worldwide audience?"

"Why else would we be doing this?"

The two continued on with their silence. As the limousine slowed to a gradual halt, reporters and potential business partners slowly gathered around the car. Wordlessly, Danny pulled the handle and stepped out of the limousine. He quickly turned away to avoid unwanted attention, hearing the camera flashes instantly sounding off, their prying eyes demanding that he face them with the same politeness he treated with everyone else. Carefully, he bent down, and helped Sam out of the car. Though slightly bothered by the attention they were already receiving, she merely shrugged, and gently closed the door. They proceeded to walk toward the imposing company building, side by side, without any regard for the curiosity surrounding them.

As they slid open the glass doors, Danny relayed to himself the schedule that would soon unveil. He was supposed to go into Dad's office, and give him an update as to where the man was supposed to be, what work he'd need to do. At around nine, Danny and Sam would work on securing property contracts in the UK, specifically near Glasgow. Another multi-international business was planning on reopening there, and apparently, what with the award-winning lawsuit that had on their hands before, they needed Danny's endorsement to gain the public's trust. Sam, on the other hand, was already digging up their profiles, a history of fraud and drugs already coming up to full view, along with said court case. Nine-thirty is when the meeting would take place, and at ten, that's when the GIW will show up.

They walked up the crystalline steps, all the while nodding politely at the busy workers. Skulker had already told the morons about the bomb threat, as well as the masterminds behind it. Since the director wasn't one to hold back, they might just break into this building with guns blazing. More than likely some idiot was going to screech, "There's a bomb!" which, of course, will lead to chaos. It'd give them both approximately ten minutes, before the GIW finds them.

At an instant, his ghost sense went off.

Just as he and Sam come into the elevator, he sees tiny specks of green light littered here and there. It wasn't noticeable to the rest, but to he and Sam, it was beautiful, a wonderfully crafted work of art, however invisible it appeared to everyone else. Little voices spoke out to them, along with a tense silence that accompanied such a feat. Danny regarded them evenly for a while, before the elevator door shut behind them.

Sam smirked. "We have company."

"We do."

"Are they on our side?"

"Who knows?"

* * *

"Freeze Masters!"

Everyone at once looked up, the shock overcoming their normally passive features.

The bad men poured into the room, their white, pristine suits haughtily announcing their equally obvious motives. The same, cruel gleam was stuck there, behind their black sunglasses. Smirks glared predatorily at Sam and Danny, though at this point, it was obvious who everyone kept thinking of.

Dad's eyes widened at the interruption. The teens stole a glance at each other, all the while keeping a wary eye on the agents, trying to feign their own innocence. At the same time, they leaned protectively over to the sputtering man, narrowing their eyes as the gun barrels swirled over to them. "W-w-what… _what_ is the _meaning of this?!"_ Dad finally managed.

He was just about to stand, the hostility so very evident in his expression, when one of the bad men pointed their gun towards him. He froze for a single moment, his fists clenching and unclenching. "If you don't want to end up with a head full of bullets, I suggest you _sit. Down."_

Slowly, Dad sank back into his seat. He gripped his arm rests carefully, as he eyed them suspiciously. "What's going on here?" he asked, his voice betraying boiling anger. "If you couldn't already tell, we were in the middle of something."

One of the bad men walked around the table, the business partners flinching as they did. As of now, their eyes were bugling with anticipation, the avaricious lust immediately flooding their pupils with wide expectation. Danny regarded them for a bit, before turning away, no longer even bothering to care what was happening with the latest of his worthless allies. From the looks of things, Sam felt the same way.

"Daniel and Samantha Masters," the bad man stated, as the soldiers shoved the tip of their pistols towards the sides of the teens' heads. "You are both under arrest."

Dad jumped out of his seat. "W-WHAT?! On what grounds?!"

"DON'T PLAY DUMB!"

Dad and his business partners flinched. Carefully, Danny turned toward the sound of the outraged voice, all the while keeping an eye on the bad man near he and Sam. Finally, his gaze settled toward the back of the room. "Excuse me?" he murmured darkly.

"We all know what you both did!" the hysterical voice screeched, as he clutched his gun towards himself, his fingers shaking at the trigger. Danny narrowed his eyes, as Sam took another step to Dad. "Hand it _over_ ; they aren't toys kid!"

"What are you talking about?"

"S-seriously," the bad man said, taking another step toward them. "C'mon, you need to fork them over before anyone gets hurt-"

"Just what _exactly_ are you accusing my children of?" Dad growled, unable to see the eerie calm upon the teens' faces.

The bad man, or rather, the _amateur_ , straightened himself, his gun dropping to his side. Immediately, Sam relaxed. "Sir," he began, ignoring the alarmed looks on his colleagues' faces, "your son and daughter stole something of ours, and we need it back. It is government property, and-"

"What'd they steal?" Dad interrupted, placing a protective hand over their shoulders.

"T-they-!"

"That's classified," another bad man cut off.

"But-!"

"Mr. Masters," the man continued, causing the amateur to fall silent, a seething look in his eyes. "What they did, we can easily count as an act of terrorism."

"Really?" Sam taunted, as she stepped in. She folded both arms in front of her, and smirked, returning their glares with an equally terrifying look. "That's a really big accusation."

"No more talk," the other bad man seethed. "Take 'em in!"

"Y-you both can either do this the easy way, or the hard way," the amateur said shakily, bringing his gun up to his eyes once again. "Your choice!"

" _We_ aren't going anywhere," Danny stated, causing the bad men, as well as the whimpering business leaders, to fall quiet. "At the very least, not until you explain to us what we stole."

"I…I-I-"

Danny glowered at the amateur. He stepped towards him then, disregarding the rifles following his every move. He stopped just a few inches away from the man, the tip of the barrel almost touching his chest. "My _patience_ is wearing _thin."_

Just then, there was an explosion.

The floors vibrated, the loud sounds reverberating throughout the hallways.

Everyone in that room stumbled downwards. Instinctively, Danny grabbed Dad and held tightly onto the table, if only to stable himself from the violent shaking. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Sam do the same, all the while glaring at the bad men for still standing there.

In that same moment, Danny's cellphone vibrated.

He feigned his panic, as he hurriedly slammed the device against his ear. "What is it?!" he screamed, amidst the shaking.

"M-Master Daniel!"

He clenched his teeth. "Rosemary, what-?!"

"Get out of there! The police is-!"

Another explosion, another scream.

"Masters, how are you-?!"

"We aren't doing anything!" Sam screeched, trying to stable herself as she walked toward Dad. Carefully, she stood him up, ignoring the violent convulsions taking hold of the building. "Are you okay?"

The man, who was still incredibly shaken by the ordeal, stared down at Sam. He nodded after a few brief moments of silence. "I'm fine," he said, after the longest time.

Danny sighed in relief, before swirling back to the bad men. "What the hell are you all still doing here?!" he suddenly shouted. "Run!"

Much to his amusement, they did.

* * *

Gunshots.

There were gunshots.

People were screaming and running, crying and pleading, all the while desperately trying to get away from the monsters known as the GIW.

They were already separated from Dad, who was probably looking for them, the torrents of bodies forcing him along a current of chaos.

As of this point, the agents were trying to separate the threats and the helpless bystanders, which one proved to be the actual terrorist, which one a mere accomplice. The fact that they were taking time to actually determine who everyone was bothered Danny. Then of course, they were in Vlad Masters's building, so their carefulness really shouldn't have surprised him.

Danny gazed down at his watch, as he sped away from the bad men, his bright, vivacious eyes slowly taking root. One minute until the next bomb explodes. Two have already denoted in the lounge, one on the fifth floor. The other two will be situated in the parking garage, just below the company building, and the sixth one will be in Dad's office. The building will come crumbling down after that, but if not, Sam could detonate them. Assuming the GIW didn't want anymore bad publicity, they'd evacuate everyone from this area.

Danny slipped behind the columns, the bad men rushing past him in a frantic attempt to try and find the bombs. He couldn't help but smirk, as he watched them panic, throwing down their useful remotes before going off to regroup with the others. Tracing the bombs aren't going to work this time; he's already had Skulker remove the locater chips. Them flying around in circles aren't going to work either, and judging from the gunshots, the bad men must've already killed some people. Figures they'd do something like that, and if they were really that stupid, they'd probably be getting the body bags out right now.

Danny looked around a bit more, before he's straightened himself, a calm closing in upon his frame. At an instant, a bright, burst of light clouded his vision. His business suite was replaced with a black HAZMAT suite, his dress shoes with white boots. His bare hands were covered with ivory gloves, an equally clear collar covering his neck. His raven hair was replaced with snowy locks, his green eyes now bursting at the seams. A tiny frown tugged at his lips, as he waited for the bad men to come flying toward him.

The ground shook again. Danny jumped into the air and floated, his solemn gaze staring emptily at the floor. The columns are breaking; a few more explosions like that and the whole building will come tumbling down.

His cell phone began ringing again. Danny looked down, and saw the name _Vlad Masters_ on his ID. He stared at it for a while, before closing his eyes, and shutting off the incessant noise. Quickly, he began dialing Sam's number, and moments later, he heard her voice over the line, much to his relief. "Do we need them?" he asked then.

"No. I'll meet you at the monitor in the next hour."

"Right," he answers, before snapping the phone shut.


	18. Chapter 14

Sirens agonizingly wailed all over the once vibrant city, the red and blue entwining miserably with careless screams. People were shoving against one another, trying to get away from the explosion that'd happened just before, the confusion evident in their eyes. Blurs of shapes kept scurrying from his sight, as the apocalyptic fires began searing themselves into his audience's minds. Dust particles flew everywhere, the shear amount of it covering the sunlight in all its anxious glory. Darkening clouds fell over, leaving only his bright, shimmering eyes to light the way. He turned around quietly, as Vlad Incorporations came crashing down, the massive quakes resounding throughout his eardrums.

It wasn't long before Danny looked back, and saw his own family there. He regarded them for the longest time, their welcoming shadows slowly wrapping itself around the fragmented memories within his heart. He could hear Dad screaming their names, trying to find them as the bad men dragged them all away. He could hear Jazz's voice, as she joined him in his futile search. He could hear them clawing away at their equally panicking onlookers, trying to find just a small glimmer of hope that somehow, the two teens had gotten away from the chaos, that they were safe, that they managed to get away, however unlikely it might've been.

Danny couldn't help but watch them in their endeavors, a hesitant, pitiful emotion carefully setting toward the bottom of his stomach. It's funny, how they're just being swept away like that. Despite all their wealth, their influence, the respect they commanded, the fear they've instilled, it seems not even those things could save the Masters from the pandemonium.

Carefully, he began floating away, when he heard the bad men screeching, "WHERE ARE YOU, MASTERS?!"

"Don't let them get away!"

"Spectral energy level 12 and spiking!"

Danny narrowed his eyes. He flew back to the ground, and changed back. He crouched down, and observed the bad men, who were all now showing off the latest of their inventions. A jet pack it seems, one that can seep off the ectoplasmic energy of a ghost and convert it to fuel. It's not very efficient, to say the least. It wasn't like it concerned him in any way; he simply thought the thing was interesting. He stood up when the bad men flew elsewhere, no doubt blinded by their thick sunglasses. He smirked coolly, before turning around, and running through the streets.

Unmistakable buds sprouted through the crevices of the devastated roads. Thorns upon thorns rested upon the unborn flowers, giving them a more menacing look than they ever thought to be possible. A black liquid seeped through their stems, his own reflection looking back at him as he passed the toxins easily. Vines wrapped around light posts, the bright, poisonous petals attracting the attention of nearly every insect there. Weeds sprouted along the sidewalks and the once proud edifices, not even bothering to refrain from the destruction they knew they were delightfully causing. Thickening shadows meticulously tore apart the cements and the bricks, the beautifully deadly plants now taking route within the city.

Danny turned to the skies again, his eyes scanning for remnants of the GIW. In that same moment, a bright, white light caressed the scene, and soon, he found himself floating again, within the vicinity of the plants. He looked around a bit more, before picking up his pace, the hot winds quickly washing over his face.

In the distance, he could hear familiar screams decimating the air. He made out the sounds of gun shots bombarding the scenes, desperately trying to stop the weed from cutting them down. Large trees began crowding the streets, their nightmarish branches stripping its victims their defenses one by one. And as they did, the growth began becoming more chaotic, tossing away whatever else humanity valued. All he had to do was turn back, and find the bad men there, at the mercy of a monstrous weed, with the same, black liquid oozing from its lips.

Danny couldn't help but float towards them, and watch their struggling with cool eyes. Even that amateur was there, endeavoring to free himself from the monster's grip, trying to, at the very least, spout out any other heroic nonsense that came into his head. Danny flew closer to the creature, the scent of pine entwining around his nostrils as he did. Carefully, he came up just a few feet next to them, and leaned in, taking in the sights of the blood and the gore and the black veins embedded deep within their skin. Green, emerald eyes slowly began taking root, their once proud wills slowly slipping away with each second past. Before long, they fell limp, their guns slipping from their fingertips. Only that amateur was still there, trying to break free, though fear now entrenched his eyes.

It was then he looked overhead, the dust only now beginning to clear.

There was a sea of verdant splayed all over the buildings. Cars were overturned, roots grotesquely overgrown, it seemed the plants were now fighting back against their oppressive masters, taking back what they believed were theirs. A majority of the bad men were skewered, their bodies acting as fertilizers for a more innocent race to grow. Some still had those toxins circulating through their cold corpses, twitching violently at the seams as they morbidly clawed at their own throats, not even bothering to realize that, as of that point, they were dead. Glassy eyes looked back at him, as parasitic vines encircled them, their greedy buds deliciously pouring into them a poison only Sam would dare know about. Tiny animals broke from their underground residents. They scampered all over the streets, though most were now rushing to the dead agents. Their tiny fangs gnawed at the bad men, tearing apart their already rotting flesh. To the humans who were still barely alive, they screamed in horror as those animals surrounded them with feral eyes, their existence no longer a burden to anyone, or anything. If Danny squinted, he could even see foam protruding from those animals, the ribs of their emaciated frames making the scene all the more saccharine.

Danny looked up once more, and saw the amateur, now receiving his own punishment. He kept shouting to no one that the "villains" will never get away with this, that justice would always prevail, that the GIW were heroes, no matter what happens. He was fighting against those vines, however hopeless it was, unable to even pay attention to his situation.

Danny found himself moving toward that boy. He flew up up to the amateur, and stopped a few inches away from him, just as the creature was about to inject their toxins into him.

Gradually, the amateur stopped fighting, as he came face to face with the ghost. His eyes widened in terror, though he kept his same, snarky frown on his face. "The GIW won't bow to ghosts!" he seethed angrily.

Danny cocked his head.

The amateur tightened his grip around the plant. He leaned forward, trying to strain his neck to meet Danny's eyes. "Someone'll stop you. If not us, someone will!"

Danny slowly backed away from the man then, as he looked down. The amateur was still trying to come up with some choice words, some insults, when he followed Danny's gaze.

His protests came to a screeching halt.

Danny left him there, screaming in horror as he took in the bodies of his own comrades.

* * *

A young woman stood in front of the tower, her dark, ebony hair now flowing freely towards her waist. Three large monitors were situated on either side of her, the buildings carrying them eroding beneath their pristine weight. Like all the other buildings, they were covered with vines and thorns, tiny budding flowers swirling around those sickening fields. She could smell iron coating the atmosphere, along with a familiar trace of blood which diffused throughout the city. If she closed her eyes, she could even make out trace of spores floating lazily through the streets, endeavoring to find new victims for the fungus to grow.

A dark, green dress covered her torso, the hem of her skirt lightly brushing her hips. A black collar adorned her throat, one which carried spikes and metal, along with traces of the red rubies she had on before. Her eyes surveyed the ever changing environment, the phenomenon known as "The Urban Blight" now coming away from her. She could hear the plants calling out to her, telling her where Danny is, what he was doing. Before long, she looked up, and caught sight of him, just as he was making his way to the control tower behind her. He found her with his burning eyes, and gave her a brief smile, before phasing through the windows. She returned it happily, as she stayed there for a few more moments, gauging the destruction the two have managed to cause.

It seems a majority of the cities were still evacuating. It'd only been a couple of hours, but their actions have already caught the attention of the National Guard, perhaps even the entire country. Most local officials were trying to get into the city, trying to see what all the commotion was about. Flurries of responses came back to her, some frantic, others fanatic. Yes, plants were growing everywhere. There was a terrorist attack; a building came tumbling down. No, they didn't see the GIW agents; what were they again? Those idiots dressed in white? That's right; they were probably responsible for the whole thing. What'd they know anyways? She could hear the news reports talking about the whole ordeal; apparently, Daniel and Samantha were still missing.

Yes, that was what caught everyone's attention.

Suddenly, the screen flickered brightly.

"Our names is Daniel and Samantha Masters."

Sam couldn't help but turn around then. She stared up at the monitors, the glowing screens still illuminating the darkness the dust had given them. She saw his raven hair, his cerulean orbs, his own, calm face, as he stared out into the imaginary crowds, just as he had so very long ago. She stood there for a single moment, then called upon her own vines. Slowly, she lifted herself from the ground, and began making her way towards the tower, all the while listing to Danny solemn, tired voice.

"My sisters and I," he continued, the bright screen illuminating the darkness surrounding her, her black strands carelessly flying away from her face, "were adopted by a man named Vladimir Masters. We were all happy there, of course. Who wouldn't be? The man we called "Dad" was kind and thoughtful. We had a castle for a home, along with a bunch of fun little games we liked to play whenever we were bored. We helped as much as we could, and for that, we were rewarded with fame and respect."

He settled back in his seat, just as Sam came up to the windows. Her tiny hand laid on the frame, her plants clambering excitedly as to how quickly the raucous noises around them vanished. Sam phased through the windows, and joined him on screen, as she transformed back to into her human self.

They were all watching.

Everyone was watching.

"Now," Danny continued, flickering his eyes towards Sam before coming back to the camera Skulker had so gratefully prepared, "I doubt we'd have any reason to do this. Why should we, after everything we've been blessed with?

"But that's just it." He closes his eyes, and for the longest time, he was silent. Soon, he opens them again, and looks down at the screen. To Sam, it was as if he was looking down upon their audience, at the fans who've followed them around, at the reporters, who clung to their every move, waiting for more, at their enemies, who kept hunching beside themselves, trying to find out what kind of deals the Masters were making, the blackmail they could insinuate upon the family, at the man who adopted them, at the sister who did everything she could to make them feel at home.

"There was no blessing."

Danny dug out a the remote from his pocket. It was white, just like the one Sam had buried in the folds of her dress, though it was more simplistic than that. In fact, all there was to it was a single, black button.

Another remote, for another event, for another heart-stopping, breathing taking scene.

"To be perfectly honest, we were planning on getting along with society. It was a quaint little game we played, however long it was supposed to last. However, because a certain organization cheated, I guess there's no other choice than to go out with a bang.

"As of this point, there are ten Tsar bombas hovering over ten different locations in the United States; New York, New York; Los Angeles, California; Chicago, Illinois; Washington DC; Houston, Texas; Dallas, Texas; San Francisco, California; Philadelphia, Pennsylvania; Boston, Massachusetts; and Atlanta Georgia. The bombs are already in orbit, and are ready to be used with the simple push of a button. It'll wipe those cities and anything surrounding them at an instant. I bet the radiation alone will be enough to kill you all."

They were all scared, the plants told her.

They were scared of what she and Danny could do.

"You all have two hours before the bombs detonate," Danny said quietly. Sam drew close to his side. Then, just like that, two rings of light shrouded the room, and from it, they revealed their ghostly forms, just as the monitors cut off.


	19. Chapter 15

Danny remembered that day, when he finally realized they were both going to die.

He was on his bed, his legs stretched out along the covers. He had his laptop on the blankets, with some warm, hot chocolate sitting beside him. Black headphones covered both his ears, the loud, orchestral rock music pounding against them as he looked through the files Skulker managed to steal. He was scrolling aimlessly through them, trying to determine whether or not they were still looking for he and Sam, if they were sending out anymore search parties for them. The low, dim lights of the evening came through a stained glass portrait behind him, with dust particles dancing around to the lullabies of the heater overhead. Dark, green curtains cascaded down the long, elegant windows, the fabric brushing past his shoulders lightly as he continued searching, looking for something, anything that was worth at the very least half his time.

Then he saw it.

Their names.

Next to those names were pictures, simple pictures of two children, both of whom he knew very well.

Black hair clung to their eyes, the pain scrunched up behind their faces providing little relief towards his own, unstable mentality. Ugly bruises marred their clear faces, their soundless screeches echoing throughout his brain. Worn out hospital gowns carelessly donned their battered bodies, doing little provide any comforting warmth for which they could fall unconscious. Even now, Danny could still hear them, their pleas going unanswered at the silence. He could see them frantically attempting to phase through the leather straps, if only to escape the scalpel directed towards them. He could see them being prodded and pricked, the anesthesia already wearing off from their tired, half-dead frames.

One by one, he went through those files, the quietest traces of frustration plastered on his face. He remained there, sitting on his bed, even after sunset, when darkness filled the once light-hearted room. He kept going through those pictures over and over again, through the data files that he thought he managed to destroy. He didn't know when it was, when Sam came into his room, nor did he notice her scrunched up face, her eyes brimming with pain as she plopped onto his bed.

It was only when she began screaming did he finally look up.

Only days later did he realize what was causing it. No, he didn't tell her; he only wanted her to believe it was all just some horrible nightmare, a bad dream she could easily wake from. He figured that, at least with her, he could spare her just a tiny hint of pain. He didn't know why he decided to lie to her that evening; he knew, better than anyone, that she could take care of herself. In fact, she was the sole reason why they managed to escape from the bad men. Perhaps it was just his hero complex acting up again. Maybe he just wanted to return the favor, knowing he was only trying to spare her feelings. Maybe he just wanted her to concentrate on enjoying what little time she had left in the world, as he stood by her, unable to stop her from dying. It was only until he started suffering the same pains, did he see that he held the same gruesome fate.

Truth be told, it made telling Sam all the more easier. He explained to her one night that their powers were mutating beyond belief, and the more they used them, the more inevitable their end was going to be. He told her they were going to die, and just like that, she accepted it. There were no tears, no insults, no pitying, no empathizing; rather, she merely nodded, and asked what they were going to do next. It's how they ended up where they were now, with a captive audience, and ten bombs dangling around one of the world's most powerful nations.

But even if they weren't going to die, Danny knew they still would've done it. They still would've forced the world to look at them, their old identities now cast away. They would've been the one to issue their death sentences, no matter how unfair it was, even if their bodies weren't breaking down. They would've endeavored to destroy them, those bad men, and drag them into the lowest pits of hell, for all their ignorance, for all the suffering both they and their friends had to go through, just to satisfy their haughty, human egos. They would've done everything, even if it meant betraying their family, the society they grew up in, forsaking the memories they've meticulously crafted with their newfound freedom. They would've done everything again, even if time decided to repeat itself.

It was all strange, in his eyes.

As he and Sam walked through the city, hand-in-hand, regarding the terror they've managed to incite, the buildings overturned, the cars crumbled and eroding away, flags and banners of every nation, of every symbol that false freedom had to offer, now lay barren for the world to see, decimated by the likes of only two teenagers, he couldn't help but notice a small while bud, stuck in the crevices of the road. Unlike its strong brothers and sisters, it flinched away from the neglectful atmosphere chaotic scene entirely, only ever bothering to take shelter in the cool, dark shadows from which it came.

Danny and Sam made their way toward that tiny bud. Carefully, Sam crouched down, and stroked the flower. Still, it refused to pop up. "Snowdrop," she said quietly.

Danny blinked, as he examined the plant. "You can't make it grow?"

She shook her head. "It doesn't want to."

"How come?"

"I don't know," she replied, as she shrugged her shoulders. "She says she's fine here."

Danny glanced around skeptically at the flower. From the corner of his eyes, he saw all the other carnivorous plants etched out on top of the buildings, their oversized mouths just waiting for some unfortunate creature to walk on by. Already he could make out their overbearing shadows in the midst of the foliage, the bright sun piercing the cool morning. Alongside the weeds and the vines and the thorns, it didn't seem like that flower belonged here. If anything, she should've been in a flowerpot, at home, watching the danger from far away.

"Do you believe her?" Danny asked.

"Not particularly," she answered, as she stroked the petals. "But she doesn't want to move, for some reason."

"Huh."

They stared at the tiny flower for a little longer. Before long, Danny broke the tense silence with an empty smirk. "You remember that joke Tucker once told us? About honeydews?"

Sam had to think for a moment, as she kept caressing the flower. Finally, she nodded, a nostalgic smile adorning her lips. "Knock, knock," she repeated aimlessly.

"Who's there?"

"Honeydew."

"Honeydew who?"

She turned to him then, the strands of her bangs covering her eyes. "Honeydew you wanna hear some garden jokes?"

Danny chuckled a bit. "That was stupid."

"…His jokes were stupid."

* * *

They didn't have much time left, that much was clear.

Then of course, it didn't hurt to have the whole city to themselves.

The silence was nice, a drastic change from the noises they were used to before. There weren't any reporters rushing up to them, trying to see what exactly the two were up to, nor were there any injustices that needed to be sorted out, their enemies already rotting away in the flaws of the American justice system. No, there wasn't anything that needed to be done, and with the bombs hanging over the major cities, all they had to do was sit back, and wait.

They didn't say anything of importance, and only once did they even consider the fact that they now had everyone's attention, people from different countries, allies, enemies, all endeavoring to reach out to them, trying to understand why they were doing this, trying to comprehend the reason behind their heinous actions. Perhaps it was just out of fun, some might say. Perhaps they were just two mere teenagers abusing their power, sadistic teens who decided to ruin everyone else's lives for the sole purpose of removing their own boredom. Maybe they wanted to say something to the world, and this was the only way to do it. Maybe they simply wanted to outdo everyone else when it came to vigilance, to show the entire world that they didn't need anyone else's approval to be on top.

The list was endless, and for a split second, Danny thought about revealing their stories, what'd happened, what made them this way. The ghost powers were a bit new, and already people were debating on whether or not they were the next superheroes, if they were supposedly the real deal, or if they were comic book characters come to life. People wondered if they were Superman incarnate, or Batman, perhaps the Flash, though of course, those names sounded silly to the two, Danny included. Nonetheless, he was flattered that people thought to compare the teens to them, however contradictory their actions were.

Still, neither he nor Sam answered any of their questions. Truth be told, they were waiting for Jeremy. After all, he was a reporter, and Danny felt the man was honest enough, despite his profession. Spending countless months observing him was enough for Danny and Sam to feel, at the very least, an odd form of friendship towards him, even if they were just using him. They did everything they could to make it easy for him to find them, even if neither one saw him in the crowds; Sam did order her plants not to devour him, and Danny had already killed the remainder of the GIW agents.

But though by now, they supposedly should've gone looking for the man, Danny and Sam relished their time together. They started their day doing nothing in particular, simply just walking around without meaning, unable to comprehend that troubling concept called time. Hand-in-hand, they ignored the bodies, the limbs, brushed aside even the faintest hints of the destruction they've caused. Rather, they only stared out into space, their footsteps echoing throughout the empty city. Aimlessly, they'd repeat the jokes Tucker had told them once before, over and over again, until they found some sickening humor hidden beneath those callous words. Sometimes, they'd talk about the pranks they've pulled on Jazz, carefully dissecting the tiniest hints of playful agony whenever either one caught them. Other times, only about Dad, and how he kept reminiscing on his college days, which involved a lot of green, a lot of gold, a lot of crimson, due to how the fans kept trampling over each other during game days.

When the sun was high, the the soft rays shimmered down upon them, Danny decided to freeze the roads. He'd imagine a small, tiny boy named Tucker, in a worn out hospital gown, sliding down the street, trying desperately to balance himself while frightened laughter bubbled from his lips. Sam had trouble skating on them too, endeavoring to use her vines to steady herself. She'd look at the boy, and then she laughed along with him.

At an instant, delusions of their fallen classmates would be with the two teenagers, as both Danny and Sam tried reliving those moments of innocence.

Just before the bad men came and took them away.

Paulina and Dash would stay together, staring out at the "loser" kids, as they so happily called them. Kwan would be doing everything he could to try and make a petite snow angel, his small size helpful in every possibly way. Mikey and Lester would be clinging to some adult, attempting to avoid the mess of water and ice. Alice would be walking with Johnny, pointing out the beautifully intricate snowflakes descending onto her gloves. Their teacher would be having another argument with her ex-boyfriend, not too far from here. Their parents would be sitting off in the sidelines, probably having their own, vicious snowball fight; if memory served, Danny's old Dad would be losing to Mom. Sam's parents, on the other hand, would simply look out at the children, just as Paulina and Dash were, but not in a condescending way, but rather, in a very, terrified way, as they tried calling Sam back, worrying that their only daughter might slip and break her neck, or freeze to death, whichever came first. There'd be hot chocolate, for anyone who was cold, and iron railings, for anyone clumsy enough to slip on the ice. Danny could simply imagine everyone there, all of whom were too busy with their own, simple realities, too busy to get caught up in within the smallest traces of the tragedy that supposedly happened before. No one would remember it. No one at all; it'd be just like heaven, almost.

After one or two more hours, Sam managed to steady herself. Just as she was about to fall again, Danny caught her, and planted a tiny kiss on her cheek.

 _Lovebirds!_ he heard Tucker scream, from just behind that glass wall.

* * *

Golden, nostalgic lights were beginning to fade from those dim skies. The evening carefully glistened with crimson, as memories upon memories began replaying the casualties from which the two have suffered from. And as they did, Danny could only stare out at the scenery in front of him; despite all the damage they've caused, the panic they've managed to incite, as of now, everything seemed beautiful, in his eyes.

There were plants plants, who were now sleeping peacefully within their shallow hearths, as well as meticulously carved ice, all of which was clinging to the edifices, the ruined buildings, catering to an imaginative emotion almost as innocent as that of a child's. Heavy, obsidian shadows catered to the pristine snow, the verdant never once withering from the freezing temperatures. He remembered the age-old neglect the buildings had so desperately given into, the archaic mess from which Sam had so happily made. He remembered how intricately the vines interwove with the steel columns, the crumbling structures beginning to cave into the sheer weight of natural beauty. All the windows were shattered, remnants of ice rotting the once fancy offices from the inside out. A lonely, quiet howl passed through the abandoned landscapes, the apocalyptic moment easing the tension built up in Danny's shoulder blades. Elongated shadows grew darker and darker by the minute, and by the time Danny managed to look up again, he simply saw nothing, in that empty space.

Even now, as they waited for Jeremy, Danny didn't think they needed to do…practically anything. They thought they could simply get away from it all, without even bothering to understand the aspects of the consequences they've embroidered upon their very beings. After all, in the next few hours, they were going to be dead soon. The bad men ensured that, even after their freedoms were secured.

Danny was sitting on the eroding ground, his back nestled comfortably against smooth rock. The pale surface retained some of the afternoon's warmth, apparently untouched by Danny's frost-stricken powers. Coupled with Sam's warmth, whose head was sleepily nodding off against his neck, he couldn't but be comfortable in the position he was in.

Slowly, he lifted his hands, and stroked Sam's cheek. He could feel the ectoplasm tearing at his insides, the parasitic fluids his immune system created to destroy his antigens now wearing itself down. The poisonous combination of his human half and ghostly half was already taking a toll on his nervous system, and as of this point, it won't be long before he dies from hypothermia. It'd be the same thing with Sam too; he could already see the plant toxins overwhelming her innate defenses, her organs shutting down one by one by one. It was an absolute miracle that they managed to make it thus far.

Just then, he heard footsteps racing towards them. There was a familiar voice, calling out both their names.

No, it wasn't from Jeremy, but from someone else.

Someone who should've evacuated.

Sam stirred from her sleep, as she groggily removed herself from Danny's shoulder. Wearily, she blinked. Danny narrowed his eyes, as he focused on a familiar figure running towards them; silver hair, tied back in a neat pony-tail, with dark, oceanic eyes, the panic so severely embedded in them. He was wearing a messy business suit, the red ribbon they both had begrudgingly accepted now long since vanished. His silhouette became lighter and lighter, until finally, the man stopped in front of them, the desperation so clearly entwined in his face.

Dad.


	20. Cowardly

He remembered running.

He remembered screaming.

He remembered pushing Jazz along, when he noticed that neither Danny nor Sam were behind her.

He remembered nearly being trampled over, trying to look for them.

He remembered the pain.

And the quiet.

And the sorrow which erupted from his heart.

And the disbelief, as Vlad Incorporations came crashing down.

* * *

He remembered walking through a city of ruin, the silence masking the horrors hidden behind the shadows.

He remembered staring up at the monstrous plants, which ravaged the buildings.

He remembered trembling at the sight of the bodies, the GIW gazing up at him with soulless eyes.

He remembered bloody ice, which paved the roads.

He remembered screaming at the top of his lungs, the names of his son and daughter tearing through the air.

He remembered hopelessness decimating him, the desperate wish that they were somehow still alive vanishing from him instantaneously.

He remembered the wave of relief that washed over him, when the city monitors flickered alive, revealing that they had managed to survive.

Only for dread to haughtily march in, as they nonchalantly threatened the entire country with humanity's biggest nukes.

And the shock that came with it.

When he saw them transform.

* * *

Vlad stood there quietly, as he took in their disheveled appearances. Dark hair clung to their closed, weary eyes, and shadows carefully caressed the lines on their faces. Their silhouettes entwined together, in the midst of that dying sunset, as they took shelter beneath the warmth of a large, piece of rubble. They were pale, and though impatience grazed their features, neither made much of it. In fact, it seemed they were waiting for something, for someone; it was as if nothing else had mattered in the world, save for the single moment to which they even bothered paying attention to. Sam was sleeping on Danny's shoulder, and it seemed Danny was simply staring off into space. Vlad took a deep breath, and slowly stepped forward.

He didn't know when it was when Danny finally saw him. However, the moment he did, the boy stiffened, and nudged his sister awake. They both slowly stood, carefully wiping the dust from their clothes. They turned to Vlad then, with wide, surprised eyes; apparently, they thought he'd already evacuated.

"What're you doing here?" was the first thing he heard.

Vlad's lips parted slightly, as he tried coming up with…anything he could say to the teens.

Millions of questions came into his mind. How could they threaten everyone like this? Don't they know how bad this looks for all of them? Didn't they consider the consequences that could result from something like this? Don't they realize they could go to jail for life, or worse, be executed? Didn't they understand what happened to terrorists, or at least, to people that everyone was afraid of? Didn't they realize they were pushing innocent people out of their homes, all the while laying waste cities, infecting every little thing with scorching heat and radiation? Didn't they see how damaging their actions were? Didn't they realize that if they hadn't done any of this, they could've continued living out their lives, with people screaming their names in adoration, the praises alone enough to drown them both? Didn't they understand the future they were sacrificing?

And yet, when he saw their faces, those questions simply disappeared.

They knew what they were getting themselves into.

Deliberately, Vlad came to them, confusion brimming within old, archaic eyes. His brain racked itself with an already fading surprise, from the moment he saw how desolate the city was, to the fact that somehow, the two had supernatural powers.

Ghost powers, from the looks of things.

The research Jack and Maddie did, back in their college days, came crashing down on him then.

His arms came lifelessly to his side, and he regarded them evenly. "You do realize how much trouble you're in."

When they didn't answer, he merely closed his eyes, and sighed. "Though I suppose it's pointless now, to tell explain to you the magnitude of your actions."

"Has everyone evacuated?" Sam asked at last.

Vlad nodded.

"…Including Jeremy?"

"Yes," he said, unable to miss the disappointed sorrow in their eyes. "Yes, he's evacuated too, along with Jazz and all the others."

"…I see."

"What I fail to understand…is why," he whispered, as he stared around the broken site. It'd only been a day, and already the company building was laid to waste. He knew it was going to happen eventually, but he figured that it'd be from some freak tornado or tsunami. He didn't think someone from his own family would bring such devastation upon the poor thing, though with everything that's happened now, he supposed nothing should come as a surprise. "Why go so far? You had the affluence. I…I can't even begin to-"

And suddenly, a gunshot rang from behind.

He turned back, and saw the GIW surrounding them, with rifles all directly pointed at them. And when he heard the familiar sounds of torrential air flying through the scenes, Vlad didn't even need to look up, to see the helicopter swarming the atmosphere. How it even got past those plants, Vlad couldn't even begin to understand.

Angered expressions glared the Masters down, as they pointedly accused Vlad of every little thing they could come up with, the very instance of friendship now distorted by devastating realizations of who Vlad was with. They all screamed his name, screamed "Masters", the hysteria building within the seams. They all bared their teeth, the agents, as they continued on with their frightened, primitive chaos. From the corner of his eyes, he could make out a small camera, just from behind the rubble.

A public execution.

Terror gripped Vlad's heart then. Memories upon memories came crashing down upon his chest, as he spun back. Jack, Maddie, and even little Jasmine flashed his mind, from the moment he first met his two real friends, to the gut-wrenching reality of when the love of his life would marry his former best friend, to when tiny Jasmine came home for the very first time, to Danny and Sam were found, both of whom had suffered the same agony he had for years on end.

He could've trained them.

He could've been the father they never truly had.

He held out both his hands, his eyes wide with panic. "Hold your fire!" he screeched, waving his arms frantically in some vain hope that they'd disarm. "HOLD IT!"

"Dad," he heard Danny say from behind, "what're you doing?"

"Get behind me!" he screamed, as he continued with his efforts. "I can talk to them! Please, just give me time-!"

"Get out of the way Masters!"

"Please, let me-!"

"HANDS IN THE AIR!" one of the agents quickly screamed, as he took one step towards Vlad.

"STAND BACK!" Danny shouted, causing everyone to fall silent. "One false move, and the bombs go off!"

Vlad clenched his fists, as he turned back quickly. "Dammit Daniel! Give me the remote-!"

"Call. Them. Off."

"Daniel please-!"

"YOU'RE SURROUNDED MASTERS!" a voice boomed from above. "TURN YOURSELVES IN!"

"Don't make this harder than it has to be! Just give me the remote!"

"At this rate, they'll think you're one of us," Sam murmured.

At an instant, Vlad heard the ground crumbling beneath him. In that same moment, two large vines wrapped around his ankles, with tiny, black spores erupting from the cracks. Without thinking, he started struggling, doing everything he could to break free.

But when he saw Sam's face, his strength faded from him.

Just then, Danny turned back to the GIW. "If you value this man's life, you'll do as we say-"

"LIKE HELL!"

"So you're fine if we kill him then?!"

What?

He turned back to Sam.

A sad smile, just on her face.

And then a gunshot rang from behind.

And Vlad found Sam lying there, with crimson draped around her already dark dress.

* * *

He saw Danny sitting beside her, the utter shock distorting his once eerily calm face.

He gripped the remote, as he stared out at the GIW, his green, feral eyes destroying whatever traces were left of his own humanity.

And then, there was a scream.

Danny was screaming.

* * *

Eternity passed Vlad, slipping easily from his fingertips, just as the last few years had. Vlad didn't know what he had said, on that day; perhaps a bit of gibberish, some nonsense on friendship and love, the importance of family and the like. Every little immature lesson on morality burst into his mind, his own lips barely keeping up with the demons the boy was seemingly drowning in. No, he didn't move, at that moment, nor did he even bother to try to force himself to forget the abrupt death of his own daughter. Was he crying? Had his heart broken? Was there ice,creeping up from beneath his veins?

He'd no idea.

The next thing he knew, he saw Danny standing before him, with a tired, weary frown plastered on his lips. He closed his eyes, after what seemed like a brief moment, before tossing the remote over to Vlad. "Don't let them take us," he murmured softly.

Vlad's eyes widened. "W-what…?"

"Danny Fenton and Sam Manson. That was our names, before this all happened. Before-"

And suddenly, he doubled over.

Vlad stopped breathing, for a fraction of a second. He rushed to his son, not noticing the blood, gushing from the side of his head. Nor did he see the cracks along the lines of Danny's face, or the ice which began spreading around the three figures. Rather, Vlad could only see Danny coughing, his bloody mouth beginning to blacken, becoming darker and darker with each passing second.

Like Sam, Danny offered the same, sad smile.

"Remember us," he said, as he drew his last, dying breath.


	21. Chapter 16

There was a phone call, that one simple night.

The light rain bounced off those stained glass windows, as he walked toward that simple device. A brief flash of lightning sounded from the background, the curtains giving way to eerie, tiny shadows, all of which were watching him carefully. The evening chimes from midnight resounded below, echoing throughout the lonely halls of the castle, reminding him of his constant solitude. His own footsteps joined the almost human choir, his own reflection coming back to his stony, cold silence. Then, without thinking, he leaned in, the pain already settling in the pit of his stomach, as he read the collar ID.

 _Maddie Fenton._

He can't particularly recall what she told him that night. Though he was ecstatic to hear her voice again, it hurt to hear how much she gushed over Jack, how she kept praising her children, both of whom, she might add, were, in her opinion, geniuses. He tuned out the rest of the parts that concerned Jack of course, and by the time she was done, almost ten full minutes had passed. It was when her voice suddenly became serious, her abnormally cheerful tone instantly vanishing, did he manage to ignore the envious stabs burning through his stomach. He pushed the thoughts of what could have, and forced himself to look at the present. But by then, he had almost completely deserted the conversation altogether, and the only thing he remembered was saying goodnight to her, and hanging up the phone. He remembered looking back into the bathroom mirror after a few hours, and simply asking him where everything went wrong, aside from letting Jack Fenton into his life.

The next morning, he got a call from someone. An agent, who claimed he was from the GIW. The man asked Vlad a few questions, particularly on the Fentons. Their college days, the research they've conducted, how Vlad felt about his former colleagues; though it was the government, Vlad knew full well he had the influence to keep them from searching him. He gave general answers, not wanting to hurt Maddie; he complimented them both begrudgingly, left out everything on the success they had with ghosts, flat out refused the results the agent was asking. After a few minutes, the man hung up, and that was that.

Thinking back on it now, he probably should've asked the agent what the interrogation was about. He should've asked why the man kept asking about the Fentons, why they wee so infatuated with research that supposedly yielded no results; Vlad should know, since he was the one that destroyed those results. He should've called Maddie back that night, and ask her why an organization dubbed the GIW was asking about she and her very wonderful family. He should've paid more attention, as to what she was saying that very night.

Perhaps then, he wouldn't be standing here.

Perhaps he wouldn't be holding a small, crying girl, whimpering the names of her brother and sister, over and over again. He wouldn't be shielding her from the demanding reporters and their followers, doing whatever it took to pry the information away from the broken family. He wouldn't be searching through the crowds, trying to see where that reporter named Jeremy was, only to find him being trampled over by the crowds. His own, weary face, wouldn't have had to gaze down at the graves of his two children, both of whom carried powers that he would've been able to teach them how to handle them. He wouldn't have to stand in the pouring rain, holding an umbrella tightly in the grip of one hand, all the while endeavoring to protect their faces from the flashing cameras.

And yet, in the end, all he could do was close his eyes.

He leaned his cheek against Jazz's hair, and in that same moment, wept.

* * *

As Vlad suspected, what happened that fateful day was, indeed, a public execution.

Their bodies were plastered all over the world, in every major news station in the country. He knew, not from Jazz, since she was too pained to even bother following the gossip, but rather, from his business partners, some of his closest allies, and even a few of the elites, some of whom were still gloating over their unexpected betrayal.

New rumors kept circulating the streets because of it. Some thought the Masters children were being pressured too much, and that this was the result of some unfortunate, cruel breakdown. Others thought Danny and Sam were apart of some illegal spy training program for the United States, and that they were bribed into betraying their country by some other enemy far, far away, countries that hadn't even known about the terrorist attack until later that day. And even still, some thought the entire thing was just a crude hoax, and that in due time, the two teens would come out, with a huge smile on their faces, as they laughed at a world who thought they were dead. They were the Masters; they couldn't have died that easily! And as for the whole superpower thing; it must've been some lighting issue. Or some really good visual effects. Or they were all just seeing things.

But in the end, everyone, and especially Vlad, knew better. How could anyone explain the man-eating plants lodged onto the buildings, just waiting for federal agents and the entire National Guard to come in to destroy them? How could they describe the very real corpses littered across the streets, most of whom were from the GIW? How could they describe the fact that Vlad Incorporations was no longer standing there? How could they describe the state of emergency the entire country was put under? If anyone replayed those clips again, and even the most skeptical couldn't argue with the fact that the acting was much too real. The bombs were all too real. Everyone, and everything had come crashing down, from the moment the two teenagers made their move.

But perhaps what shocked Vlad the most, as well as his entire audience, was how after the incident, the GIW tried playing the whole incident off, as nothing but a bad dream.

No, it was just a gas that they released; a gas, which made them think they had the bombs. How'd the Masters get them? The branch had absolutely no idea; they made sure their labs could withstand against everything, even teenagers. What? Ghost powers? What ghost powers? No, the skeptics were right; it was probably just a lighting issue.

Fortunately, it seems the excuses weren't enough. The president had ordered them to shut down that obscure branch; as of this point, not even the richest sponsors could save it now.

And yet, Vlad remembered Danny's plea.

 _Remember us_.

It took a while, but eventually, Vlad managed to buy out that branch. Using the money Danny made from his own business deals, as well as the settlements Sam won in court, Vlad employed his own special force of investigators, and ordered them to find out just what'd happened that fateful day, why the GIW was acting the way it did. The federal government, much to his discomfort, reimbursed half his payments, meaning he'll have no choice but to allow them to intervene, should anything controversial pop up. It took a while, but eventually, Vlad accepted their somewhat forced help.

And so, the two parties turned their attention to the enigma known as the GIW. They dug through the remains, the ruins, piles of data sheets and results, if only to understand the meaning behind the attack. Even now, everyone was still reluctant to call the two teenagers "terrorists", and it was something Vlad was grateful for. He didn't allow Jazz to help, knowing full well she'd yet to control herself around the crowds. No, he'd rather her be studying, doing something else, even if he knew she had the right to see what exactly had happened, to her former home, her old family. Not even a day had passed, before he finally found what he was looking for.

And it was _horrifying_.

Almost fourteen years ago, the GIW formed, in response to the numerous ghost sightings situated around the northeast, as well as the paranoia based on the recent massacres in the Middle East. The branch's goal was to eradicate the enemy by any means. They took a particular interest in the Fentons, simply because Jack and Maddie were ghost hunters, and the Mansons, who privately funded the military through their more ostentatious means. The organization found out that Amity Park was a pool of paranormal activity, benign and demonic alike, and along with the extremist protests taking place in the city, the GIW decided to cease the whole town. They enslaved it, put it to use, if only for the sake of cultivating warriors, heartless soldiers who had no conscious, no morality, only an undying loyalty for a country that won't even last through the brief epoch known as eternity.

The adults were ranked based on their usefulness. Those that could assist the GIW through wealth, intelligence, strength, were all spared, put to work in one of the many underground factories. Everyone else was simply eliminated, as shown by the red x marked on each of their photographs. The Fentons and the Mansons were a priority, not surprisingly. In other words, for the adults, it was a simple act of whether or not they agreed with what the GIW was doing. Whoever refused to work with the organization were killed. And as such, none of the adults even survived.

The children, on the other hand, didn't get that mercy. They forced to deal with a series of tests that determined whether or not they would live or die. The first test was whether or not the children could be obedient. Anyone who dared speak out against their commanding officers would immediately be shot. The "successes" were then put into cells, boys in one, girls in the other. They were trapped there for three weeks, with no food, no water. Periodically, the agents would check to see if those children were still alive, and if they were, they'd get to advance to the next test. For those who'd died, their bodies would merely be flung back into the cells, where the surviving children would be locked in for the next week. If they survived the diseases, the maggots, the anguish, the solitude, they were ready to advance. These tests made up only the preliminary rounds, and by then, nearly 90% of those children have already died.

The experiments began, right after that. The survivors were subjected to cruel treatments, which consisted of embedding them with what appeared to be toxic ectoplasm. They replaced human organs with dead ones, removed the immune system, wove together the fibers which were supposed to harness ghostly abilities. And by the end of the procedures, only three children were left, the other being a child named Tucker Foley.

He was frail, this child. Embedded with the powers of an Egyptian mummy, he could barely cling to his own life, to the point where the GIW locked him in a different containment unit, if only to keep him from going out of control. It was clear that from the observations, Danny and Sam came to see him everyday. Though his health kept declining, the child must've put on a brave face for the two, if only to see them again, to make sure they didn't worry. About two months later, he finally gave out; somehow, even with his immune system removed, his body rejected his ghost powers. Coupled with malnutrition and thirst, it was a miracle that Foley lasted as long as he did.

* * *

Vlad remembered sitting at his desk, going through those files. He remembered how angry he was, fighting the urge to scream in rage, to throw those files at the corner of his room. He remembered how much he wanted to kill the head of the GIW, and how unsatisfied he felt when he published those files, only to have the police haul the GIW away, the surviving members still struggling, still trying to accuse Vlad of a massacre he'd only now become aware of.

He remembered how pained those agents were, on the day of the trial, when Vlad stood before the judge, and presented to her the evidence he found against them, with the same fire his daughter had, just before she died in front of him, before she'd completely been erased from existence, the very people who robbed her of her own life now standing here, without remorse, without guilt. He remembered the frustration eating at his core, when he realized how quickly their death sentences would be, how easily they'd escape the public eye from just a simplistic, private execution, especially since his own children were refused even that lonely kindness. He remembered how angry Jazz looked, how her white knuckles gripped the iron railings, as she screamed and shouted, hurling back the insults they did to Vlad, not even bothering to keep up disappearances now.

In fact, it was Jazz's behavior that prompted Vlad's response, towards the end of the trial.

The cameras were all there, ready and waiting for the prosecution to issue the damning verdict. The reporters were on the edge of their seats, as well as nearly half the other politicians, all of which were still deeply shocked that the"scandal." The defense kept saying that while what the GIW did was cruel, in the end, they were still trying to benefit the country. "Well-intentioned extremists," was what their lawyers called them. And rather than focus on the actions of those extremists, they instead turned their attention to the Masters, to Daniel and Samantha, both of whom were the sole benefactors to the GIW. They repeated this statement continuously, even as Vlad strolled dangerously close to one of the agents, a seething look in his eyes.

Vlad stared at the man in the face. He merely smirked, before hanging his head in false shame.

"Go on," he said. "You know we were right."

The next thing Vlad knew, that man was underneath him, gasping for breath, the whites in his eyes already showing.

By the time they pried Vlad away from him, the paramedics were already dragging the half-dead corpse away from the court room.

* * *

 _Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer._

Sam used to say that all the time, after every single trial, after every successful investigation; to this day, Vlad kept thinking about her words, about how she's managed to keep herself aloft, despite her young age. Vlad's seen Danny utilize that strategy too, keeping their assets beneath his watchful eye, all the while distancing himself emotionally when ruining yet another business. There wasn't a single detail that got by them, not one mistake without them catching it. Jazz was more than naive, and although he often times wished that they'd be a bit like her, he'd be lying if he said the strategy didn't serve them.

It was probably why they even bothered sponsoring the GIW.

Throughout the months that led up to the incident, the latest technologies kept disappearing from the GIW's laboratories. Missing weapons reappeared in the reports, some harmless, others with the potential to destroy entire nations. The ones that caught the public's eye were the Tsarina bombas; that the United States could recreate humanity's biggest nuclear warhead was a bit of an understatement. But to be using what was practically stolen technology from Russia, was an even greater offense; already deals were being made, the barely kept negotiations clinging desperately to life.

And yet, despite that, what got Vlad's attention were the bloodstream nanobots.

The insidious machines were geared towards biological warfare, aimed to disarm the enemy by injecting them with potentially fatal toxins if breathed in. They could also be used to poison water supplies, food rations; it was a jack-of-all-trades, when it came to assassinations too. Then of course, since they weren't fully operational by the time of the attack, Vlad would've just overlooked them completely. He would've forgotten about the robots; perhaps he'd tell his secretary to sell them to some medical company, where they, at the very least, could find a way to turn the robots' destructive programming into something more… acceptable. Maybe he'd even use them as spy cameras, if only to keep an eye on his nosy neighbors; after all, it seems Sam did that, though more often than not than to keep an eye around the manor. Yes, he would've forgotten them.

If they weren't inside his children's bodies.

When the autopsy reports came back, before the findings were published, Vlad took a look. Apparently, the nanobots had been in their bloodstreams for a while now, monitoring ectoplasmic levels, keeping a constant watch on their immune systems, their records set to what'd happened that fateful day. The nanobots recorded the time their bodies were being broken down, the rate at which they were decaying. The results were so astonishing, so gruesome, that Vlad had to stay there, for a few hours, to try and calm himself down.

Even as he announced the results to the public, the shock still pulsing throughout the crowds, he felt…so far away. He couldn't help but smirk emptily to himself then.

The records on the nanobots were so clear, so concise, that for an instant, Vlad wondered if the two knew about their impending deaths. He wondered if they knew what was going to happen to them. And if they had, they probably weren't content, with just dying silently like this. They probably didn't want their story to end this way, without anyone knowing whose fault it was that they became like this. They wanted justice, or what was as close as they could get to it, even if they had to damn themselves to do it.

From the moment Vlad looked out at the crowds, he simply closed his weary, old eyes, and turned away.

It seems they've gotten their wish.

* * *

Then of course, Vlad wasn't content with this ending.

As of this point, he didn't care what Danny or Sam wanted.

He needed to see them again.


	22. Corrupt

Clockwork never really cared for much for the living.

It wasn't because he was hindered by some overarching, maniacal tragedy that made him so callous towards them. Nor did he carry any animosity toward those creatures, and even the humans, who tortured, burned, maimed, crucified; after all, it was his job to protect them, no matter how gruesome they were, or however cruel. As long as they were safe, and the present is as it should be, there wasn't much of anything the ghost would do. Rather, it was something else that affected him, a type of subtle dread that overwhelmed him day after day after day.

And that was boredom.

These days, the living had gotten too repetitive. Kindness, malice, benevolence with a touch of nostalgia, remembering the sweet times of when children were still children, adults were still adults; he's seen it all. Generation after generation, he's watched kingdoms fall, the uncivilized become civil, cities being erected in the place of villages, the very notion of the past had become little more than a cycle, one the ghost rather not spend too much time on. It's gotten so drone he's had to force himself to watch the timelines many times over, trying to find even the slightest detail he'd missed, the tiniest of mistakes that accidentally slipped by him. The predictability of it all so obvious he's had to keep himself from going insane.

He's tried appealing to the Observants once before, asking if he could have another position. A gatekeeper, a seer, a janitor, anything; so long as he's not trapped in the same moments again. And of course, they refused, simply explaining to him that he's the only one who could withstand such feats, who could handle the pressures of reality bearing down at him all at once. Of course, that did little to ease his frustrations, and Clockwork left seething. Still, he sighed, and resigned to his fate, of being trapped in those endless cycles, mulling over the outcomes like a sullen child.

So it came as a complete surprise, when someone broke those outcomes.

That day, he was sitting in his tower, floating aimlessly around the clocks. Today, he had to keep track of the pendulums, to make sure they weren't clashing into each other. The chimes resonated from their glass cases, the robotic nightingales already singing that annoying tune. Although Clockwork tried blocking their song out, in the end, he was left with the stupid thing hammering out his ears. So he tightened his grip around his staff, took a deep breath, and continued on with his work. He couldn't complain to the Observants again; if he did, they'd probably send a thousand more of those maniacal birds.

Just then, he heard a crash.

And he saw a ghost in front of him.

Like Clockwork's, the strange ghost's eyes were scarlet, a brimming scarlet which radiated the man's century-old frustrations. He wore a white suit, with a pristine cape covering the red beneath. He had his black gloves and boots, along with a black belt that carried a tiny brown book. His raven hair was spiked, his fangs giving him the appearance of the vampires those humans were always so fascinated with. His skin was a deathly shade of blue, though his behavior suggested otherwise, considering how frantic he was behaving. The ghost was brushing aside the broken glass which cascaded down on him, all the while flying here and there, his eyes chaotically searching for someone, for something. It wasn't long before he took out the book from his belt, his eyes hurriedly scanning the words for anything at all, the desperation clear in his sorrowful gaze.

Clockwork froze, unable to even comprehend the scene laid out for him. The fact that an utter stranger was here, someone new, someone Clockwork had never even _seen_ before, was completely mind-blowing.

That the strange ghost suddenly saw Clockwork floating there, then hurrying up to him, was yet another world shattering event.

"Are you Clockwork?" was what the ghost first said.

It took a few moments for Clockwork to gather himself.

Eventually, he slowly nodded, fighting the urge to smile excitedly to himself. "Yes," he managed, as involuntarily changed forms. "…I am."

The ghost carefully lowered himself to the floors, not even bothering to take in the old, archaic clocks that he so recklessly ruined. He placed one hand against his chest, and bowed slightly. "My name is Vlad. Vlad Plasmius. I…I need you to do me a favor."

Curiosity replaced Clockwork's excitement, at that instant. "What is it?"

"Please, reset the timeline."

And automatically, the curiosity faded.

Clockwork straightened, as he turned away. He'd lost count of how many ghosts had come to him over the centuries with the same request. For some, they simply wanted more time to say goodbye to their loved ones, just before they died, to say to them what they never would've said any other typical day. For others, it was to try and cheat Death; some wanted to live so much they came to Clockwork, begging that they be allowed another chance at the life. And even still, there were those who wanted to take revenge on the people who have wronged them, to try and fix their lives, to try and ingrain themselves into the minds of everyone, if only for a brief moment. They wanted to be immortalized, to be remembered time and time again, striking fear and awe into the hearts of everyone who ever hears of them. Their reasons were all different, some pure, others corrupted.

And yet, even then the results are always the same.

Still, Clockwork never remembered seeing a ghost by the name of Vlad Plasmius. In fact, Clockwork was sure that if he reviewed all the timelines now, there'd be absolutely nothing on the man. "Why?" he found himself asking.

"My…my daughter…and son-"

"I cannot."

"But-!"

"Timelines are an incredibly delicate matter," Clockwork mused, as he flew aimlessly around the different clocks hanging limply around the towers. Pictures upon pictures of events kept passing by him, sometimes purposefully, others randomly. "Changing one single detail in the past may affect the future, in ways you cannot imagine."

"That's why I'm here," the ghost said. "I want to save my children."

"These things happen for a reason. Perhaps they were slated to die on that particular day-"

Instantly, Plasmius was in front of him, rage entwined in his weary eyes. "They were just kids!"

Once again, Clockwork's interest sparked.

Someone who would risk their own lives, to save the life of another…

Still, he merely shook his head. "It doesn't matter," he said, as he brushed aside Plasmius.

"I-!"

"Plasmius, the loss of a child is a terrible one, and I am deeply sorry for it. However, I cannot simply abide to your whims, just because you wish it. I am the ghost of time, and that is all."

He clenched his fists. "There has to be something you can do."

Clockwork flicked his eyes toward the ghost. It was abnormal; no one had come to him with this kind of request before. Then again, not many ghosts could think of someone else's peace other than their own, violent or not. He leaned in a bit closer. "What are their names?"

"Masters," the ghost answered swiftly. "Daniel and Samantha Masters."

Clockwork turned away, as he mentally searched for the names.

Funny.

He couldn't find anything.

"If you can't find anything, try Danny Fenton and Sam Manson."

There was still nothing.

Clockwork turned back. "And they were yours?"

Plasmius blinked. "Y-yes. They were orphaned by madmen… so I took them in."

"Did you have any other children, besides those two?"

"Jasmine Masters. Back when…back when her parents were still alive, she was known as Jasmine Fenton."

Ah, now there's a familiar name.

Carefully, Clockwork maneuvered himself around the ghost, coming to one of the clocks he's bypassed many times over. Yes, he remembered her, and how spiteful she was. Despite her enthusiasm and excitement, as well as her comedic ability to become too overprotective, in the end, she too became boring. But though he reviewed her timeline many times over, he still forced himself to sit down, as Plasmius crept over to her.

It was then he narrowed his eyes.

"The girl's parents are alive," he said then.

"What?" Plasmius leaned over, his own gaze searching the clock, the confusion clearly etched out onto his face.

His hardened glare visibly softened, as he took in the sight of the young woman. She was wearing a loose, black sweater, with the same, light blue jeans, as Clockwork had always seen her in. She had a velvet suitcase in her hand, her own, cerulean eyes looking back at two silhouettes. A big smile was plastered on her face, as she shoved the suitcase inside a large, worn out truck. She turned back one last time, as she fished out the car keys from her pockets and unlocked the door. One of the figures was running to her, with tears streaming down his face. It seemed like the man was going to crush her with yet another one of his bear hugs, before Clockwork turned back at Plasmius.

"She should be heading off to college now," he explained lamely. "She was accepted on a full scholarship, and her parents were just seeing her off. As you can see, the father has some attachment issues-"

"…Impossible."

Clockwork looked back at the ghost. "What was that?"

"Jack and Maddie Fenton…are dead," Plasmius barely finished. Slowly, he walked toward the clock. He splayed his hands along the glass. "They died…I found Jasmine in an orphanage somewhere. She…she was…"

Then, he stopped. It was as if something had just occurred to Plasmius. He quickly spun around to Clockwork. "Where's Danny? What…w-where's…?"

"I do not know who this…'Danny' is," Clockwork stated. "As far as I'm concerned, he has never existed in any of my timelines." He gestured towards the clock, "Jasmine was supposed to be an only child. But if that's all, then-"

"W-wait," Plasmius called. "What about the Mansons? Sam Manson? Her parents? They lived in Amity Park, just like the Fentons."

Manson, huh?

The image on the clock shifted. The same mansion stood there, the same one Clockwork had seen many times over. In that depiction, there were two people, adults, moving in. The mother, a youthful redhead, rubbed her belly profusely, while her husband helped her inside, a tender smile on his face. Clockwork nodded at the image. "Around the same time Jasmine Fenton was leaving, a family of two was moving into their mansion. The woman, Pamela Manson, is expecting. A boy, from what I can recall. She wanted to name him Johnny, after his grandfather."

Plasmius's arms fell limply to his side. He slowly backed away from the clock, his eyes wide with shock. "I…I don't…w-what-?"

Clockwork closed his eyes. "As you can see, neither Daniel nor Samantha have existed anywhere in these timelines."

* * *

Ever since that day, Plasmius has been reappearing again, and again, and again, with the same, deluded look on his face. He keeps asking for those two names, as Clockwork searches through the timelines, if only to humor the poor creature. Sometimes, he'd allow Plasmius to see through the eyes of the many Jasmine Fentons prowling around, while other times, Clockwork would merely brush the man's many requests aside, in favor of some peace and quiet. And yet, the results were the same; there was no Danny or Sam in any of the timelines. There was no proof that they had ever existed, and, to be quite frank, Plasmius's memories weren't getting Clockwork anywhere. Besides which, what disturbed Clockwork even more was the fact he couldn't even find Plasmius, much less those children.

As time went on, Plasmius became a frequent visitor to the towers. Sometimes, it was to search through the many clocks the Observants had so carelessly shoved inside. Other times, it was to read that brown, beat up journal, the one Clockwork saw tucked away inside his belt. Whenever Clockwork relayed the same explanation to him, a few hours later, he would see Plasmius take out that book, and reread through it thoroughly. The ghost had been meaning to ask the creature what was inside, but for some, ironic reason, he never found the time to do so. He simply just went about his day then, the subject not even bothering to enter his mind again.

One day, about an hour after Plasmius had left, Clockwork found that old journal, lying on the wooden floorboards. Clockwork remembered staring at it for a while, that same old curiosity peeking from him. Then, in that same moment, he scooped up the journal, and opened the pages, taking in whatever illusions Plasmius had decided to delve himself into.

 _Jeremy Müller,_ it read on the front.

Yet another familiar name.

And so, he opened the book.

The scribbles were barely coherent, and the tiny, happy doodles off to the side proved little in helping Clockwork decipher the mess. Still, he took a deep breath, and persevered, not quite seeing anything like this before. In fact, it'd been the first time he'd seen a human artifact up this close. When he could finally read the messy handwriting, and when he managed to accumulate enough patience as to actually stop time and read the thing, he was instantly overtaken by it.

The descriptions were small and simplistic. But even then, he could practically see protective emotions pouring from the journal, as well as the unimportant doodles came alive that'd seemingly come alive. What appeared to be a mess of shapes took the form of a room, food, drinks, books Clockwork had vaguely heard about. He could hear the laughter from the writer's voice, on how he detailed his friends' antics, and his own. Even now, he could still hear the happiness in his musings, the compassion his tone had become so deeply enamored in.

And at that moment, Clockwork saw the forgotten timeline.

 _JF_ and _UG._

Those were their names. From a sinful memory, within a corrupted past.

And Vladimir Masters was the one who saved them.

* * *

Clockwork remembered every detail that day. He remembered telling Plasmius about the two, about how he found his journal, which was simply lying on the floor that day. He remembered how the ghost broke down, right in front of him, as he kept wondering whether or not they were there, those children, if they were actually real. He remembered Plasmius telling him about how the world kept insisting the cruel kindness of their actions, how controversial they were in their way of exposing the truth. He remembered Plasmius telling him about Jasmine, about how she had just graduated from medical school now, about how she was establishing an international peace fund in their honor, how the family name had eventually moved away from the terror it supposedly ignited. He remembered Plasmius staring emptily at the space in front of him, the relief unbearably entwined within his once sobbing face.

A dream, he once told Clockwork.

He was afraid that he'd just made them up somehow, in his pitiful loneliness, even though Jasmine insisted otherwise.

Even when the world remembered them for their actions.

If he didn't have that journal, Clockwork was sure the man would've lain awake at night, wondering if Daniel and Samantha Masters had actually existed. Chanting to himself over and over again the countless number of times of when they laughed, when they fought, in that same, monotone voice.

To think, that the words of a simple friend could be so powerful.

A friend, who had nothing more than the eyes of a stranger.

* * *

Clockwork recalled seeing Plasmius, if only for that final, desperate moment. As usual, Plasmius still came, with that same request in mind. Clockwork came to the ghost, and asked him what he wanted to do.

"I want to save them," was all he said.

"What'd you plan on doing?" Clockwork asked, as he mentally rewound the clock back to that fateful day.

Plasmius stayed silent for the longest time, the hesitation permeating from his archaic expression. An unreadable expression flashed Plasmius's face, and when he looked back up, a renewed determination was set within his eyes. He was ready, it seems. "Please, go back to when the GIW was still forming."

Clockwork paused for a brief moment, before looking up at Plasmius. "Why?" he simply asked. "You should know that-"

"Please."

Clockwork didn't dare press for anymore.


	23. Chapter 17

Jeremy Müller was a busy man.

At two, he was supposed to meet with Lance Thunder to talk about the recent ghost attacks; at two fifteen, he needed to talk with Harriet Chin about the latest news concerning the apparent breakthrough Jack and Maddie Fenton (mostly Maddie) had made in the medical uses for ectoplasm; at two twenty, he had to meet with Mayor Masters about the new anti-ghost laws he wanted to implement on Amity Park; at three, he and the rest of the crew had to hunt down the famed ghost hero, Danny Phantom, and try to score an interview. He'll keep doing that until midnight, where he can finally get the brief nap he'd always dreamed about. Later, it'd be morning, and then he'd start all over again.

Now, he wasn't one to complain. In fact, if anything he'd say that he'd been blessed with the amount of success he's had, especially with anything ghost-related. His reports have been on national and international news, what with the recent hauntings Amity Park had. He's had field reporters track him down and ask him if they could take a look at his work, researchers that'd pay him big money, if only to see a glimpse of the documentaries he's been working on. For example, just three days ago he caught the GIW trying to hack into his account to for any information on Danny Phantom. Of course, with the amount of influence Jeremy carried, not even they could get anywhere near him. So, in his personal opinion he was living the good life. Really.

Still, it didn't hurt to have a few hours to himself every now and then.

He found himself pondering on the temptation one day. He was at his desk, toying with the leaves on his fake plant, which was sitting at the very edge. His fingers drummed impatiently on the surface, as he stared at his cellphone, waiting for a very important phone call that would've been the highlight of his career, and that was whether or not he got the vacation package to Hawaii.

"Mr. Müller," a familiar voice said.

Jeremy looked up tiredly, and saw Mr. Albercorn standing there, with a pile of papers in his arms. Jeremy couldn't help but flinch at the sight, though he straightened himself, and hid his discomfort. Before he opened his mouth, he caught sight of a small, brown journal, sitting at the top of the pile. "What is it?" he asked then.

"This…um," the man began, as he started placing the pile on Jeremy's desk. "This is…for you…"

"No."

"There's even a note-"

"This is my _lunch break,_ Albercorn," he hissed, causing the poor thing to fall silent. "Give it to me afterwards."

"…You know your schedule sir."

"But-!

"Please sir?" Albercorn said quietly, as he gently nudged the papers towards him. "It…it seemed really urgent."

Jeremy regarded his secretary for the longest time. The two have been working together since forever, so it wasn't like Albercorn to just dump some trashy new story on Jeremy, at least, not without a good reason why. And even then, those incidents rarely happen. Besides which, the man was really focused, so he wasn't one to accept just any story, no. It had to be gut wrenching, heart breaking, filled with every other tragedy either Shakespeare or Poe, or even Grimm could come up with. It was hard to admit, but if it wasn't for Albercorn, Jeremy was sure he'd be just another, everyday reporter.

"Fine," Jeremy finally conceded.

Albercorn's face brightened. "Okay, then I'll-!"

"No, you won't. Just... just get me some coffee, alright?"

* * *

That very night, he invested his efforts in those files.

He reviewed all the details hidden behind the texts, the words, the court cases, anything at all he could get his hands on. He saw through the financial statements released, the news stories about two young teenagers, both of whom laid claim to the surname, "Masters." He read about their successful endeavors, their seemingly perfect career paths, as they paved the way for "justice, and the American dream," as one reporter called it.

From the very moment he heard their names, it was one of the first times Jeremy was genuinely interested in something that wasn't about ghosts.

He kept himself busied for days. He read about their exploits through the articles he hadn't seen before, the stories he knew had never existed, with characters he was too enticed by. There was the beautiful Samantha, who won every allegation, who destroyed every argument that came her way, who put the bad guys behind bars, who managed to remain as elusive as ever through traces of her own, Gothic elegance. There was the handsome Daniel, who paved the way for every major business deal, who was a genius when it came to dealing with the stock markets, who, like his sister, remained hidden in the shadows, not even bothering to come out, even when the reporters were gone. There was Mayor Masters, who smiled lovingly at the two, with yet another girl in tow, a girl he identified through the papers to be the beloved, sweet Jasmine Masters.

The whole thing was like one big fairytale. There was a family, who seemingly did everything right. According to the fables, everyone loved them, no matter how mysterious they were, or how troublesome it was to get any interviews out of them. Whenever people caught them together, they'd always be laughing at some private joke another made, or smiling at another's pranks. Sometimes, there were fights, but then of course, they were siblings; if they didn't fight, something was clearly wrong there. But even so, it was amusing, seeing the mayor, of all people, here with them.

Over and over again he asked Albercorn where he got the information. And each and every time, Albercorn answered the same thing.

A stranger had come one day, with these papers in hand. He asked that Albercorn give the information to Jeremy, and that was that. No, he didn't see what the strange man looked like. He couldn't remember what clothes he wore, or what company he came from. In fact, Albercorn didn't even get a name.

The only thing his secretary could even recall his sad voice.

Knowing that Albercorn stayed up for three days straight, just to take care of all the questions and the schedules, Jeremy decided to leave his explanation at that. Still, it didn't stop him from being incredibly annoyed with the man; after all, Albercorn was normally someone who was incredibly thorough, especially with something as delicate as this. However, despite the obviously erroneous facts in the articles, as well as the almost fanciful tones coating the text, Jeremy decided that the newspaper wasn't to be taken seriously. But that didn't mean he'd throw it away; as much as he hated to admit it, it was too entertaining.

After weeks and weeks of reading through the stacks, as well as keeping up with his own job, he finally made it to the little brown journal.

A little brown journal with his handwriting in it.


	24. Decadence

Perhaps that's why he found himself roaming the halls of Casper high.

Perhaps that's why he was searching through the corridors, looking for two teens, desperately searching through long forgotten memories.

Perhaps that's why, when he saw their faces, he froze.

A boy and a girl, around sixteen years old.

The boy had messy raven hair, dangling across his cerulean eyes, eyes that reflected back a tiny shade of green, a bit of amethyst. He had on a pair of old, worn out blue-jeans, along with a white shirt with a single, red dot on it. He was wearing red and white sneakers, ones that reminded Jeremy of the shoes he found on garage sale a few years back. He held fast to a purple backpack slung over his left shoulder, probably filled with textbooks he might not even touch for the next month.

The girl also had the same, ebony hair, all of which were tied back in a neat, little ponytail at the back of her head. Her own amethyst eyes captured the boy's sapphire ones. She had a small, black tank top on that exposed her naval, with a purple circle nestled towards the middle. She wore a black miniskirt, with tight, purple stockings to match. Unlike the boy, she had on black combat boots. There was a playful scowl on her face, and when the boy turned back, she simply shrugged, a small smile forming on her lips.

They were beautiful, those two. Nonchalance surrounded their frames, with a youthful aura carefully embedded in the atmosphere around them. Their melodic voices echoed across the corridors, their conversation drifting from math problems, to the recent ghost problems plaguing Amity Park, to the newfound image Danny Phantom so happily carried. They stayed there for a while, talking aimlessly from one minute to the next, as they waited for the next bell to ring. But to Jeremy, it seemed that they were waiting for someone.

And just a few moments later, that someone came.

His chocolate skin contrasted sharply to the dark yellow sweater he wore. Baggy, green pants covered his legs, with brown boots to tie his appearance together. He had a red beret on his head, with black-rimmed glasses to help focus his turquoise eyes. From the looks of things, he was talking excitedly with the two, as he shoved the PDA he was carrying to them. There were lights in his eyes, innocent lights that Jeremy had recognized.

Tucker Foley was nothing like the emaciated child he'd seen before.

None of them were.

He watched as the three began walking towards him. It wasn't long before the boy finally noticed Jeremy's eyes. Carefully, he turned to the reporter, confusion replacing the contentment he had before.

"Can I help you?" the boy once known as Daniel Masters asked.

Jeremy's lips parted slightly. He stood there, unable to speak, the emotions instantly crashing down on him. He took a deep breath, and tried to force himself to, at the very least, seem professional, though in the end, even that failed him.

"Hey, I know you," Samantha said quietly. She took a single, wary step towards him, and narrowed her eyes. "You're that reporter, right? The one who's always following the mayor around."

"Oh," Daniel said disdainfully. "So, is the _mayor_ making another appearance here?"

"I…w-well-"

"C'mon guys," Tucker Foley cut in suddenly. He placed both hands on his friends shoulders, before pushing them away. "We've got to get to class."

At that moment, he remembered the journal. "W-wait!" Jeremy managed.

The three froze.

Jeremy found their eyes on him. He could feel the curiosity fading away, the disinterest carefully lodged in both Samantha and Daniel's eyes. Yes, he remembered that look; it was the same look they gave all the other reporters, all the other fans and strangers. In fact, if anything it was an even icier.

And yet, despite that, he couldn't help but welcome it.

"I…I just…are you both okay? Samantha? Daniel?"

They regarded him evenly, for the longest time.

But nonetheless, they answered him.

* * *

Jeremy remembered meeting the Mayor, later that afternoon.

The reporter was standing at the front of Vladimir's desk, with that same, brown journal tucked away in his arm. Unlike the other business meetings, the men were alone this time, if only to discuss the Mayor's latest publicity stunt. Accordingly, he wanted something that could skyrocket his approval ratings, something that would allow him to get the adoration of the entire town. As usual, Jeremy took his notes. He listened to everything the Mayor wanted him to do, and made his own arguments as to why the new laws were a horrible idea, why he should put more faith in the teen ghost fighter. Of course, the Mayor had none of it.

Which, for some odd reason, was perfectly fine with Jeremy.

At the end of the meeting, Jeremy came up to the Mayor. After a few moments of silence, he plopped the tiny journal onto his desk.

Vlad looked up at him then. "What is this?"

"A story that I think you'd enjoy."

Vlad raised a suspicious eyebrow, the same reaction Daniel had, when Jeremy saw him. Jeremy couldn't help but smile at the suspicion, as the Mayor slowly reached out for the journal. He started flipping through the pages carelessly, his eyes not even bothering to read through the text. "And what makes you think I'd like it?"

"You inspired most of it."

"Oh?" he said then, an arrogant smirk plastered on his face.

"The author didn't write the ending though."Jeremy continued, as he shoved his hands in his pockets. "I guess he didn't know how to write it."

"So it's incomplete?"

"No. I wrote my own in."

"And what would that be?"

Jeremy simply smiled. "They said they were fine."


	25. Author's Note

Hello, I am the Seelie Court Jester.

* * *

When I was little, I thought of myself as but a mere shadow, observing the things that come and go. Sometimes I was there, in the scene, but most of the time, I was quiet. It wasn't because I was shy, or angry, or anything of the sort; it was simply because I was curious. That aspect of my own childhood manifested into the character we all know as Jeremy Müller, a reporter who had an eye for the unusual.

When I grew a bit older, I read about the terrorists who instigated 9/11. It was then I got curious as to what was happening in the Middle East. So I did a bit of research, and I watched the news reports, as to what was going on. The revolutions in Egypt, the wars in Syria, as well as the misunderstandings from one group of people to another; I was saddened by all of it, but nonetheless, I was fascinated.

A lot of the themes in this story were inspired by those events. Children were made into living weapons, all because of some paranoia bred out of a group of extremists, who believed their ways were the right way; paranoia, which was induced by misunderstandings and the like, that led to tragedies such as those that were suffered by Danny and Sam. In it all, perhaps they were the real victims in this story; at least with Tucker, he got to die, not to embrace a living hell that his friends had to live in. Unlike them, he didn't have to live the guilt that he survived, while the rest of his classmates died. Unlike them, he didn't have anything to prove; in fact, he only wanted to make sure that his friends were safe, no matter what happened.

A lot of the prose in this story was inspired by a song written by Joe Hisaishi's song, First Love. It's an incredibly beautiful song, and I highly recommend you all listen to it sometime.

Thank you all for reading and following _Decadence._ I appreciate the comments you've all left me, and I hope you are all doing well.


End file.
